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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536559">Relax, let me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighlyExplosiveContent/pseuds/HighlyExplosiveContent'>HighlyExplosiveContent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Androids living their best lives, Connor becomes bob the builder, Connor wants Hank happy, Emotional Healing, Fluff and Angst, Forest Walks, Friends to Lovers, Hank Anderson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hank is sad, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sexy Times, Summer, Summer Vacation, Summer Vibes, Swimming, Thunderstorms, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wire Play, dog walks, water fights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:07:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighlyExplosiveContent/pseuds/HighlyExplosiveContent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank should have known that Connor would never half-ass something like selling a house, especially one as old and in desperate need of renovating as the old Anderson summer house.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The whole farse starts on one seemingly innocuous evening - one that, all things considered, is like most evenings at Hank Anderson’s house.</p><p>Hank, who has been suspended from work indefinitely, has taken comfort in introducing Connor to all the great film franchises from the past. Connor, who two weeks earlier broke into the Cyberlife tower and released thousands of new android models, is not allowed back to the DPD before laws regarding android unemployment is set. </p><p>Nowadays he uses his highly advanced programming to minutely (Hank would say <em> obsessively) </em> clean the house every day, as well as creating sorting systems for laundry and trying valiantly to teach Sumo new tricks. The poor dog mostly wants to lie down when Connor picks up the clicker, but he usually relents when the treats arrive.</p><p>They are so different when it comes to unemployment, but there’s a nice push and give to it - Connor gets Hank out the door when he has been cooped up for too long, and Hank makes Connor sit down on the couch before he places Sumo in his lap to prevent him from getting up and folding his shirts again.</p><p>“What’s on Greenpine road 6?” Connor asks Hank this evening, picking up a bill from the kitchen table where Hank has responsibly strewn the due payments of the month. </p><p>It doesn’t really bother him that Connor goes through his things, or that he checks his bills. Would he be human, it would have been another thing completely, but Hank knows he’s not snooping. It’s an android thing, or maybe a Connor thing. Hank doesn’t mind.</p><p>For a second, the name of the address doesn’t completely register in his brain. That is, until Connor waves the bill at him without knowing just how very very much Hank does <em> not </em>want to talk about this. Taking a slow sip of his light beer - because yes, he compromised with Connor to not keep any hard stuff at home - he thinks of what to say. Connor doesn't wait for him, though.</p><p>“It’s a house. You didn’t tell me you have another house.” Nothing about that statement is judging, but it’s definitely curious. Connor comes into the living room and sits down next to Hank on the couch. There’s a rerun of a game on, but Hank has seen it before and anyway, he couldn’t focus on it if he tried. Connor leans over, raising his eyebrows in waiting. Hank squirms. Connor continues, “Your grandfather built it before you were born. You’ve been the owner for years.” </p><p>Hank takes another sip. His heart beats uncomfortably against his chest, but he wants to keep calm, hoping Connor will let it go. Things have been going so well, all things considered. He hasn’t had any hard liquor since the night after the Eden club. He actually sleeps and he thinks it might have to do with the fact that Connor is there. Connor, who pretends not to understand human jokes just to rile him up, who makes him breakfast in the morning, just because it makes it easier for Hank to go to sleep knowing he’ll be there when he wakes up. Connor, who for all of his emotional intelligence, couldn’t possibly understand the pain of living with memories that just never will go away.</p><p>Connor sounds like he wants to ask more about the address, and he doesn’t want to give any answers, but he hears a faint “oh” and sees the light from the TV screen blend with the yellow of Connor’s LED. Perhaps Connor found pictures of the house and is now staring at the old swing set in the backyard, or he recognizes the name of the road connecting Detroit to the village from the police reports from three years ago, and connects the dots himself. </p><p>His next words are delayed by thirty seconds or so, and then he says, empathetically, “Shit, I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t know.” </p><p>It would be easier if Connor would have been analytical and cold about it, the way he worked the crime scenes back in November - Always simply looking for an explanation, never empathizing. This way, apologizing, hurts so much more because it forces Hank to think about why doesn’t want to talk about it. Old memories flood back to him as he imagines the road he was driving that night, remembering the song on the radio. The flashes from the truck closing in on them.</p><p>He shivers, tries to collect himself and falls back in the couch with his hands covering his face. </p><p>“I don’t wanna talk about it.” His mouth tastes of bile when he says it.</p><p>“Hank, I do think we should--” Connor begins, but Hank is spread thin as it is. </p><p>“Drop it!” he says and flinches at his own raised voice, even as Connor sits still, the quick flashes of red the only indication that it affected him at all.</p><p>It’s not Connor’s fault that Hank doesn’t want to deal with this - After all, his plan was to die before he would have the time to work through this trauma. And he knows the state the house is in, knows the garden must be overgrown, the pipes rusty and dry, the inside filled with Cole’s stuff.</p><p>He wants to forget that this house exists, and Connor’s insistence on coaching him through his psychological issues only goes this far - this, he will not let Connor touch. Those puppy eyes always soften him up so he pointedly avoids Connor’s gaze, grabs another beer, and goes back to his bedroom, slamming the door extra hard.</p><p>Later on, he will cringe at his theatricality but right now he wants to be alone and let the thoughts stop.  He hears Connor calling his name, and he will have to apologize to the poor guy at some point. Even as he recognizes that, he crashes into bed and pulls the covers up, hoping to flush out the throbbing pain clutching at his lungs.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s even later when Hank emerges from his room and he sees Connor in the same spot that he left him. A twinge of guilt is sharp in his chest when he notices his LED flickering between yellow and red. Fuck.</p><p><em> I’m sorry </em> , he wants to say. <em> You don’t deserve all my crap. </em> </p><p>“Did you get a virus or something?” he snaps instead and instantly regrets it. Connor blinks, as if woken up from a daydream, and follows Hank as he walks into the bathroom, pressing a foot into the doorway before Hank has time to close the door. Hank tries to ignore him as he washes his face and tries not to get sick again. It’s difficult as Connor keeps staring into his reflection in the mirror. </p><p>“I understand your rudeness comes from a place of deflecting the pain and trauma that you’re clearly suppressing. That home is some sort of trigger for you, isn't it?” Connor says in a flat voice and honestly, a slap across his face would have been less upsetting. It’s not unlike the way he used to speak about Hank before deviating, and Hank suspects Connor is looking to rile him up enough to do something about it. It’s clever and Hank does not want to play.</p><p>He stands up straight again, wipes his face with a hand towel that Connor has hung up next to the sink. He stares at Connor, who continues his onslaught. “I don’t understand why you don’t just ask for help.”</p><p>Hank’s not sure whether Connor’s referring to his drinking or the house. Either way, he doesn’t feel like being pragmatic about this.</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you help me turn back time so I can quit my job before they assign me a fucking psycho-therapist as my partner,” he snarls.</p><p>“Deflection,” Connor repeats, tone still flat, though the smug fucker can’t quite still the twitch of his mouth. “I only meant that if you needed help to get rid of the house, you could've just asked.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? And who, pray tell, would get off their asses to help an old drunk unemployed fucker like me?”</p><p>Jeffrey has barely said a word to him since the day he assaulted Perkins. There’s no one else Hank would consider a close enough friend that would ever lend a helping hand. He only receives formal emails from him regarding the case of whether to let him back on the force. Though he would count Jeffrey as his oldest friend, perhaps he has pushed him too far this time. Granted, it’s only been a few weeks since he decked that asshole fed, but maybe it will take even more time to get Jeffrey back on his side again. </p><p>Connor seems to see where his train of thought is going and Hank feels his face heat up at the hurt look in his eyes, at the obvious suggestion there.</p><p>“You?” Hank scoffs, but he wants to tell him that he can’t possibly ask Connor to do that for him. Not after everything he has done, not when Hank only ever repays him in rude words and snide remarks.</p><p>“Me,” Connor says. He looks genuinely excited about the prospect, and then he continues, “Please. I have nothing to do. And as much as I enjoy the spectrum of colors in your wardrobe, I don’t think I can bear to sort your clothes by color and chronological order again.”</p><p>“Well, shit. If you needed something to do so bad,” Hank laughs. “Look, I just wanna get it off my hands. Doesn’t matter if I get a good price or not. It’s not much for you to do, but I’ll fucking sort my own wardrobe for the next foreseeable future if you actually are okay with doing it.” He’s rambling now, feeling stupidly embarrassed doing it. </p><p>Connor smiles again, giving him one of those winks that are simply <em> Connor </em> . “I am <em> very </em>okay doing it.”</p><p>“Well.” </p><p>Hank can’t say ‘thank you’, the words lodged in his throat. He wants to hug him. But he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder and squeezes, feeling his face stretch into a smile that Connor returns. </p><p>***</p><p>After a few days of moping around, Connor drags Hank out of the house and all but throws him into the passenger seat of his car. He explains to him that Markus has asked to meet up at his adoptive father’s, the famous painter Carl Manfred. There have been talks of going to Washington soon, but first the government has to acknowledge by law or exception that androids are allowed to travel between states with no human supervising. Technically, it shouldn’t be a problem since the president has acknowledged androids as people, but reality is rarely cut as black and white.</p><p>Connor briefs him on their way to the Manford mansion. Hank has heard parts of it before when Connor has joined the talks at Jericho.</p><p>“I suspect it’s going to be a few weeks of work before we’ll even agree on anything,” Connor says as they travel through the streets, “Markus still has the last word, but other than me, none of the others in Jericho have any kind of positive relation to a human, and it makes for difficult decisions about how to approach things. As I understand it, North has been very vocal about the way Markus runs things.”</p><p>“North? That’s the Traci model that escaped the Eden club, right?” Hank has met her once before. She was intense, is the best way to describe her, he thinks.</p><p>“She’s also Markus’ right hand man, so to speak. I think she carries an important part to the discussion, though her solutions to our problems are… Well, maybe a little extreme sometimes.” Connor’s smile is tight.</p><p>“I mean, if I had started my life violated by fucking perverts all day, I’d probably prefer to kill us too,” Hank grumbles.</p><p>Connor doesn’t comment on that, but continues,</p><p>“I think it will be easier for us if we have another human with us to discuss with.” Hank frowns.</p><p>“Another human?”</p><p>“Mr Manfred is helping to fund Markus’ work. Most androids are fine working as volunteers for our cause, but we also need practical things that right now only humans can provide, unfortunately. There’s a lot of money that goes into hiring lawyers and such.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Though we’re missing humans with a genuine care for our cause.”</p><p>“And…” Hank doesn’t understand what Connor is getting at.</p><p>“And,” Connor speaks slowly, “You have been a very supportive friend and ally. I think you could do a lot in these discussions.”</p><p>Hank contemplates what Connor’s words mean to him, that he trusts him and values his thoughts enough to bring him into these very volatile discussions. For all Hank complains, he values Connor’s trust like nothing else. If he can pay him back in any way…</p><p>Connor seems to have misinterpreted his silence, because he instantly rambles a string of excuses and explanations. Hank stops him with a raised hand and Connor begrudgingly closes his mouth, though his eyes are continuously darting between Hank and the road.</p><p>“I don’t know if I can actually do much,” he admints, “but if you think I’ll be helpful, then I’m glad to come with you.”</p><p>It makes Connor smile.  </p><p>***</p><p>Carl Manfred's house is… well, It's hard to describe, the way it's both extravagant and yet homey.</p><p>The androids fit into this place, polished and gorgeous, while Hank sticks out like a sore thumb. He is highly aware of his bright orange-striped shirt, covered in dog hair and smelling of old human.</p><p>He finds himself relaxing a little when Manfred Senior joins the room. It's easier to be around the Jericho collective when he's not the oldest one there, and Carl falls into the later age category, where the person just has completely embraced their years. Carl is warm and compassionate. Hank can see the ways Markus has emulated him, the way Connor started to swear and wear old shirts at home, like himself. Markus introduces everyone to this week's subject, and Hank is still in awe of being in this guy’s presence. Markus is impressive. His tall and lean frame gives him duality to his energy - both inviting and imposing. He is after all the android that fought for androids’ rights. He recognizes Hank's face from the news, sagging gray face plastered on several news sites after he decked a fed. Not to mention the pictures of him and Connor after the revolution. He doesn't comment on any of that, but shakes Hank's hand when they're invited in with a "Connor's Spoken highly of you, Lieutenant Anderson. Welcome to Jericho."</p><p>Connor has been away from the DPD and most spotlights for so long that Hank hasn't noticed the ways in which he has changed since that first week. He sees it when Connor noticeably goes to straighten up when they walk down the corridor to Markus' office. His back is stiff and the telltale twitch of his fingers tells Hank that he wishes for his coin. Is he more relaxed at home, with Sumo in his lap and dressed in Hank's old sweats? Or has he simply copied Hank's demeanor at home?</p><p>Markus watches them closely, his light eyes narrowing in interest when Connor goes into explanations of the crime statistics he has found from his own research.</p><p>Hank wonders if what he sees is interest in the information- or in the person relaying the Intel.</p><p>He tries to imagine Connor and Markus together, two perfect beings holding hands, hugging, standing together. He wonders if Connor has noticed Markus' lingering gaze. He doesn't know if he dares to broach the subject later, scared of what Connor's reaction might be. Fucking coward.</p><p>When they all shake hands and depart from the mansion at two in the morning, Connor sits in the passenger seat and runs some program or filing shit while Hank silently goes through the objects of discussion from the day. He realizes that he hasn’t thought about the house, about the pain it evokes inside him. His heart sinks as he remembers that he’s promised Connor to actually sit down tomorrow and drive all the way to Greenpine.</p><p>Still, compared to the problems that androids have to solve, his is pathetically easy. The shame in procrastinating cleaning out his own goddamn house is burning in him, but that’s what makes him set an alarm for the next morning.</p><p>Hank groans at the alarm the next morning, but after two snoozes he hears the sound of the coffee machine and the accompanying smell, and he manages to get his ass out of bed. Connor allows him twenty minutes of breakfast calm, before he throws his clothes at him and tells him to get moving. </p><p>Hank is somehow proud of himself for finally getting the ball moving, but there is no point in pretending it isn’t mostly because of Connor that he manages to dump rolls of black bags in his trunk and put the address into his gps. </p><p>***</p><p>Hank hasn't been to this neighborhood in over three years. The road leading up to Greenpine is gravel, ground crunching familiarly under the wheels of the car. He is hit with a wave of nostalgia. Urban life has not yet hit this part of Detroit outskirts. When he sees the roof and the old fences, his stomach twists into a knot. His hands are shaking when Connor finally parks the car right outside. Hank can’t look out the window yet, afraid of what he might see.</p><p>“Right, let’s get this over with,” he grumbles and reaches for the seat belt, but Connor’s hand on his stops him. Hank lets go of the belt, but hesitates to look up into his soft eyes. The car feels awfully cramped, the air getting sucked out and making the walls of the car shrink back in on themselves. </p><p>“Hank, let me,” Connor’s voice is gentle and it cuts through the ringing in Hank’s ears. When he drops his hands to his side and leans his head back against the headrest, letting a slow, deliberate breath in, Connor moves away from his space, and when did he get this close?</p><p>Hank tries to focus on Connor’s meaning in those words. Not ready to get up and out of the car just yet, he simply tilts his head to the side, meeting Connor’s gaze.</p><p>“I can do this.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do it alone,” Connor answers and Hank can’t look at him. “The trash bags are in the trunk, I can go inside and throw away everything.”</p><p>“Don’t,” is all Hank manages in a raspy voice, because Connor’s words are too much. Even if Connor’s LED didn’t paint the inside of the car in soft yellow, he knows it’s spinning frantically, one of the few tells that he has to go on of when Connor is processing something. Apart from that, Connor’s face is impassive. Hank waits. </p><p>Connor is silent. </p><p>They stare at each other.</p><p>Hank knows he’s losing this battle and he lets the passenger seat recline until he’s leaning back, a loud sigh following as he folds his arms over his chest. Connor knows he’s won, because he visibly perks up. Ass.</p><p>“Is there anything you think you might want to keep?”</p><p>Hank immediately thinks, <em> absolutely not </em>. But then he remembers that there is an old pocket watch in one of the drawers, somewhere. Maybe his mother’s old clay pots have survived as well. He hasn’t been able to go back and pick the stuff up inside the house, actively pretending that the house hasn’t been eating away at his paychecks every year.</p><p>“I’ll send you a list,” he mutters and Connor nods, seemingly satisfied. When the door to the driver’s seat is shut with a thud, Hank listens as Connor opens the trunk and rustles with the plastic. Connor opens the low gate, rusted and creaky from neglect, and looks back at Hank once more. He is bright eyed, energized in a way that Hank hasn’t seen in a while. Maybe the lack of work has taken a toll on the android as well. </p><p>That’s another thing Hank has to add to the tally: being so full of his own shit that he hasn’t even thought about how Connor feels.</p><p>He thinks he must have nodded off, because he suddenly hears Connor open the door and inform him that the inside is empty of knick knacks and old memorabilia. He throws the bags into the trunk and walks over to the driver's seat, hands the small box to Hank, filled with the few things he wished from the house. It’s not as much as he thought.</p><p>“Do you want to go inside now?” Connor asks, but Hank shakes his head.</p><p>“Not today,” he says and the relief of not having to deal with old memories that he is trying to move on from has made his body completely turned jelly. </p><p>Connor nods and doesn’t ask any questions, just turns the car back down the old road and drives them back into Detroit. </p><p>***</p><p>That evening, as Hank pors over the pamphlets of real estate businesses, Connor approaches him from behind, his steps so silent and light that Hank almost jumps out of his skin when he speaks.</p><p>“I could do that for you, if you’d like?” Connor suggests, a question in his voice. Hank turns to find him standing close. Connor reaches behind him, taking one of the pamphlets from the table, a wift of that ‘Connor’-smell hitting Hank’s nostrils. </p><p>Way too close. </p><p>Connor seems unfazed by the proximity. “My systems would make for a much less time consuming process of sifting through all these,” he continues and leans forward to scroll through the tablet in Hank’s hands. “I’ll find someone that gives you the best price, anyway. You’d only need to fill the forms later, and even that I could technically do if you’d give me some old referential material of your own personal signature---”</p><p>“You shouldn’t talk to an old police lieutenant about forgery, Con.” Despite the words, Hank feels tons lighter, just imagining not having to take another step in that house. Of course, things can’t be that easy. “You don’t have to do all of this for me. I’m fucking thankful you helped me clear out the interior, and you don’t owe me anything. You know that right?”</p><p>Connor sighs in that exaggerated way that Hank swears he must have picked up from Jeffrey.</p><p>“You’ve asked me this so many times that even you must have my answer memorized by now,” he says. </p><p>***</p><p>“I’ve talked to Ms Adams,” Connor says later that week as Hank chomps down some actually homemade food. “She advises us to at least trim the garden and maybe do some changes in the tapestry. It’s in pretty good shape still, but she says that even a little work on the outside will raise the price considerably.” He continues on and on about the house and Hank is still stuck on the idea of venturing inside and seeing Cole’s room, with the butter yellow tapestries. </p><p>It’s pathetic. Beyond pathetic, and he can’t help but feel sorry for his pathetic fucking self. He nods, and hums when he thinks it’s appropriate and he hates himself, just a little, for not even appreciating all the effort that Connor is putting into this. All he wants in this moment is to curl around his bottle and lock himself in the bathroom, though he has a sneaky suspicion that Connor will simply break the door down if he would stay there overnight.</p><p>“Hank?” Connor’s voice breaks through.</p><p>“Hm?” Hank’s voice doesn’t sound half as casual as he hoped it would. </p><p>Connor is looking at him with those sad, dark eyes again.</p><p>“You don’t want to do it?” Connor asks and Hank musters the energy he can to try and explain himself. He collapses onto his armchair and sighs, dragging a hand over his face.</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t want to be reminded. That’s all. I don’t care how much money I’m gonna get out of this, as long as it’s out of my hands soon.” It’s a terrible explanation, but Connor nods.</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>Hank thinks it’s the end of it there, and when Jeffrey eventually calls to tell him that he’s allowed back to work, he’s happy for the distraction. Connor tells him the house will be ready for sale in the summer, when more people want to invest in property, and Hank lets it go.</p><p>Work is not the same. Nothing is the same. He sees the work the police are doing, and even though there is a lot of good progress, he thinks of the androids that were sent to camps. The ones destroyed and mistreated by their human creators. He thinks of the police brutality that is evident in every social media story, in all the videos from the peaceful demonstrations, the riots. He wonders if he would be among the hateful crowds, had he not met Connor and been assigned the deviancy case. More often than not, Hank picks up a case and in one terrible moment, he thinks he sees Connor’s face in the profile. Intellectually, he knows it can’t be Connor, because he talked to him just an hour ago. That short second still takes his breath away everytime.</p><p>Jeffrey suggests to him that he go back to homicide, but Hank feels he can do actual good as an officer working the crimes against androids. Jeffrey frowns when he says as much, and asks him to think it through. As it is now, he is still on probation, after having been suspended for a month. Only once he’s back at the station does he realize just how depressed he has been. Even though it’s been better for a while, even though Connor has made his life much more exciting, and maybe even a little worth living, he has been holding on to a thread.</p><p>Hank thinks he doesn’t have enough to give at the DPD anymore. He can’t afford to retire, but after summer he should figure out what to do next. He really should.</p><p>Instead of figuring that out, he works himself to the bone for the next couple of months, trying to block out the sense of dread that creeps over him every time another android is reported missing by their loved ones. He works for such long hours that Jeffrey even starts complaining that he’s overcompensating for the years he’s spent neglecting his duties, and yells at him to go home.</p><p>Usually Connor is away when Hank comes home. He shouldn’t be upset by this notion, especially as he gets to have an hour alone, moping about in his boxers and night shirt before Connor comes back home. He texts him whenever he comes home and always gets a response almost immediately, as if Connor is waiting for him to pick up his phone. For some reason it takes him only about an hour each time. Hank hates that Connor is so worried of his well being that he doesn’t dare leave him alone for too long. He hates that he feels a swirl of nausea as he wonders where Connor goes every day and evening, if he’s meeting new people and making friends. He never speaks of it, only comes home and offers to make food, take Sumo out for a walk while Hank takes the rest of the day off. </p><p>Hank wants to ask, wants to know-</p><p>And yet.</p><p>And <em> yet.  </em></p><p>In the end, he lets Connor have his bit of privacy - not an easy task while they live under the same roof with only one bedroom. If he’s a little scared of asking, well he’ll just pretend that he isn’t.</p><p>One day, Hank is just about thrown out of the station, with Jeffrey basically telling him to not come back until monday. He thinks the man is being ridiculous, but drives back home all the same. </p><p>He is stuck in traffic and blasts his old favourites when he notices a very familiar face stepping onto one of the district buses. </p><p>It could have been just another one of the RK800s. After all, there were at least a few hundred of them in manufacturing before the android equal rights legislations. He knows this is his Connor, however, since he is very clearly wearing one of Hank’s old band shirts.</p><p>Hank is sure he threw the old thing out week ago. It’s tattered and washed out and Hank was embarrassed he hadn’t thrown it out earlier. He remembers Connor’s disapproving look when he stuffed it down the trash can. </p><p>Now it's on Connor's slight frame and Hank's chest tightens at the sight. He debates whether to call him, only to see what he'll answer. Once Connor disappears on the bus, Hank decides to pick up his phone. Connor answers after one ring.</p><p>"Hank, are you already back from work?" Connor sounds stressed, Hank realizes. It's subtle and he's not sure he would have heard it had he known where Connor goes everyday.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm just driving back now. Want me to pick you up?" He sees his chance and takes it. "Where you at?"</p><p>"I’m at Markus’ place," Connor answers, too quickly. </p><p>"Right," Hank says, and now he's too curious. </p><p>"I'll be home late, I think. We're going through last week's briefing right now, and those take a while. There's leftover curry in the fridge for you," he adds.</p><p>"Great, thanks," Hank says gruffly. He debates what to do about it, if he should just let Connor have his privacy, but something about the bus Connor has stepped on makes him suspicious. The bus is heading the wrong way if Connor is really meeting up with Markus. The name of the last stop is also a name that rings clear in Hank’s head. He knows that name, knows exactly where that bus stop is, because he used to sit there and wait after he visited his grandparents as a teen. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It was supposed to only be new paint.</p><p>Connor has been bored to tears for weeks, the only form of stimulation worthy of even mentioning being the few hours spent helping Markus, or talking to Hank on the couch.</p><p>Hank has told him not to for anything about the house, and Connor was only planning on a paint job to the insides.</p><p>Then some weeks ago he arrived with the eggshell white and the deep marine in hand, dressed in one of Hank’s old shirts to protect his pristine white shirt. He planned on only painting the living room, after removing the tattered old tapestry. Standing outside however, he couldn't help but analyze the outside walls as well, and then noticing that the wood on the porch was in desperate need of attention. He started then to order more paint, as well as wood floor finish. </p><p>As he got ready to finish the living room paint job, moving furniture away from the walls, he found a spot of mold in the corner and had to order bleach as well, hoping Hank wouldn’t check his expense account.  </p><p>North called him after two hours, asking why the hell he wasn’t at Jericho and why the reception was so damn glitchy. When he explained that he was sprucing up Hank’s old summer house, she scoffed at him and complained about being a servant to humans or something. </p><p>“You know what, I’d rather do this than sit at home all day and wait for the next meeting with you guys,” he told her. “Besides, I enjoy having a project that isn’t life or death, for once. It’s nice being outdoors as well.”</p><p>“True, I guess. I’m still fighting with the fucking creeper at the Eden club and it is exhausting. Would be nice to not have to think about those things for a while,” North said and it only felt natural for Connor to invite her.</p><p>“Well, if you want some change of scenery, I can send you the address.”</p><p>When North arrived two hours later, with another android, Christopher, Connor was working on isolating the cracks in the window sills. It set a habit for the three of them to come here every other day and keep working on the house. </p><p>A month later, Connor keeps finding problems with the house, but he has also realized that there will never be an end to the problems and that somewhere he has to draw the line.</p><p>Using his high tech, state of the art forensic lab and analyzing tools built into him, he works the house like a crime scene - methodically and thoroughly. North thinks he is taking this task way too seriously, and she teases him good heartedly about it, but she still goes with him whenever she doesn’t have talks at Jericho. </p><p>Christopher is happy to help, probably just as dissatisfied as Connor with the lack of work. He was working at the docks before the revolution and happily does the heavy lifting while Connor and North take a swing at the design of the place. </p><p>North suggests using the bricks stacked on each other outside, making a wall around the hearth. No one of the androids can figure out why someone has actually left a pile of bricks outside, and so they decide to use them. Once they’re finished sanding the hardwood floor and the new tapestry of the rest of the house is finished, they start cleaning up the bricks and preparing the wall. </p><p>Everything is slowly coming together, and Connor reminds himself that he’s doing this for Hank, not because he has nothing else to do and there might be years before he’s allowed to work again.</p><p>One evening, as Connor texts Hank that he’ll be home late, Christopher shows up with another five androids in tow, all excited smiles and bouncing strides. Connor sends the message and frowns at them.</p><p>“Another set of hands,” Christopher says by way of explanation, sweeping a hand over the newcomers. Connor swallows his surprise and reaches for each of them, letting his synthetic skin retract for a polite interfacing.</p><p>While Connor has been sceptical of inviting more people to this project, he is nevertheless thankful for them when one day Markus comes over with a clumsy, old excavator, explaining that Mr Manfred has an old friend from school working in the area. He smiles and slaps the wheels, the way a human might dunk the roof of their brand new expensive vehicle. Connor finds the prospect of digging holes into the grounds quite terrifying, even though he’s downloaded the necessary programs for handling it manually. This proves not to have been necessary when one of Christopher’s friends, Dany, pipes up that she used to operate one of these before she deviated. She was never allowed to do much with it without strict instructions, and the thought of working the machine on her own makes her giddy with excitement. Connor invites her to dig up the front lawn and locates the pipes that need to be changed. </p><p>He is surprised to find that there are constantly new faces showing up with North and Markus each time he’s there. It’s good he’s not the only one who is bored.</p><p>No one mentions the fact that Connor can’t pay them, even as they bring materials that Connor can’t afford. Christopher has gone dumpster diving at a hardware store, finding materials that are considered faulty or otherwise undesirable. Dany has scrounged an old dump for useable shingles that no one will miss. Markus begins to paint with Carl when he is not working and manages to sell a few of them, riding his fame from the revolution, only to get new pipes and clinker bricks for the bathroom.</p><p>It goes to show the inherent social instinct of androids, that it feels so natural for them to come together on a project like this, even for something so trivial as an old building that no one lives in. Some of the androids don’t like that it’s for a human, but when Connor notes that once it’s going up for sale, it might even be possible for androids to buy it, they perk up considerably. Christopher loves the neighborhood and the nature surrounding them. He tells Connor as much while they polish the old wardrobe in the bedroom.</p><p>Once or twice, there will be a human coming over, either to glare suspiciously at the from across the fence or to peek curiously. A lady with her six year old daughter waves at them one afternoon and asks if they just moved there. She flinches when she notices Connor’s LED and tries to pull her daughter away, who only stares and points a finger at him and North. </p><p>“I think I saw you on TV!” she bursts out and after a glare from her mother, adds, “... Sir.”</p><p>North eyes the kid up and down. Connor decides to take a few steps closer, only enough to indicate that he’s listening to the girl. </p><p>“You’re right, I was,” he smiles and gets a toothy grin in return. The girl pulls her mother’s arm. </p><p>“I knew it!” she squeals. The mother looks uncertain and waits a beat before murmuring,</p><p>“We used to have a household model before. S-She became, uh, alive and wanted to leave for Detroit. We let her go.” She says this as if she fears that the androids surrounding her will attack her, but Connor also recognizes the olive branch. He thinks of what Markus would say in this moment.</p><p>“That’s good to hear. I have a friend who didn’t know we could be alive at first. He’s learned since then. I’m glad he’s not the only one still learning about the world we live in.”</p><p>The woman smiles at him. </p><p>It takes months for the house to clear up but the other androids seem to be enjoying themselves immensely. Connor ends each day by changing from his work clothes, and taking the bus back home. On nights when North is there, she’ll drive him home in one of Mr Manfred’s, notoriously expensive, cars. </p><p>He comes home to Hank, either fast asleep in bed, or nodding off on the couch with a basketball game on in the background. Sumo comes sniffing at his legs and hands and gets ready for a short walk, before Connor prepares for stasis.</p><p>It’s sad to think that he never sees Hank all that much, now that he’s never home when Hank is off from work, but once the house is finished and they can sell it, Connor will relish in the lines smoothing out on Hank’s forehead, will record the moment he grabs his neck and pulls him into a firm hug, one of those close, comforting bearhugs that only Hank does.</p><p>Hank never asks where he’s been when he wakes up. In fact, he almost seems to avoid the subject altogether. He is overly supportive of Connor having his own interests, it seems. Why though, Connor has no idea.</p><p>“This is starting to come together nicely, isn’t it?” North smiles one day as she and Connor inspect the exterior of the house. Connor crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head in a very human way. He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it right away.</p><p>Months of working on this, Connor has begun to have doubts about the reaction he hopes to elicit. Hank is probably not going to be happy once he sees this, knowing the man after all these months. Connor preconstructs the way he will scowl and complain about putting too much time and effort on him, and Connor will roll his eyes and convince him that this was worth it all. </p><p>Then Hank will hug him. </p><p>That’s the best case-scenario, Connor thinks, and he’s scared to think of the worse alternatives. He keeps pushing the date when he’ll invite him back. </p><p>One more week, he thinks when he finds out there are rats living in the basement. </p><p>One more week, when Dany accidentally drives the excavator into the fence and it creates a giant hole.</p><p>One more week, when the hedges he ordered still haven’t arrived.</p><p> </p><p>North pats Connor’s shoulder, rousing him from his reverie. </p><p>“When will you take him out here?” she asks and Connor shrugs. </p><p>“It’ll have to wait until the outside is done,” he says and frowns at the overgrown forest that is the front and back gardens. There are lilacs that have climbed almost to the roof, more tree-like than anything. The smell is lovely according to Mr Manfred but Connor only notes the chemical structure of the scents. More critical than the bushes however is the tall grass. Connor is not happy with the way it practically ruins the otherwise put together look of the house. No, Hank will have to wait until Connor has mowed the lawn.</p><p>***</p><p>The reveal does not happen the way Connor has predicted. In his head, he has planned to surprise Hank by driving him up there, telling him that he has only cut the grass and that he’ll need Hank to come over and sign some papers before they can begin the process of putting the house up for sale.</p><p>This is not how it happens.</p><p>What does happen, is that Connor is in the middle of putting up the last of the dark gray kitchen tiles, measuring the exact distance between them, when Christopher comes in from the living room, covered in paint, and informs him that there is a vehicle owned by Lieutenant Hank Anderson parked up the driveway. </p><p>If Connor could feel human anxiety, it would run rampant right about now, but he only feels a shiver run down his spine, his internal fans whirring on overdrive as his skin is prickling. </p><p>This is not part of his plan, he thinks, frozen on the spot as he hears Hank’s familiar steps on the porch. Sees him swinging the front door open. Takes in his shocked expression, mouth gaping as Hank stares all around the house, before his eyes land on Connor. </p><p>Connor is not expecting the flash of hurt and anger in them and he recoils as Hank steps forward, coming close enough that he simply must hear Connor’s fans spinning out of control. He doesn’t grab the back of his neck, doesn't pull him into a hug. Instead he scowls and jabs a thumb to the door.</p><p>“Outside, now,” he hisses and Connor is suddenly very much aware of the androids staring at them. </p><p>This is not what he imagined.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck have you done, Connor?” Hank growls as soon as Connor quietly shuts the door behind them. If he does realize that the house is full of androids and that these androids all can hear them perfectly fine, he doesn’t care. Connor hurries after him, stops in front of his car to prevent him from just driving off. Hank wrenches open the driver’s door but stops. He glares at the ground, breathing loudly through his nose. Connor feels agitated and on reflex reaches for the coin that isn’t there.  </p><p>“Hank,” Connor tries, but words fail him. What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t understand what’s going on.</p><p>Hank looks up and Connor’s social integration protocol does nothing to explain to him what he did wrong. So he stands there, hoping Hank will calm down and come back inside. Hank sighs.</p><p>“Please move, Connor,” he asks and he sounds so upset that Connor can’t do anything but  oblige. </p><p>Connor watches the dust gather on the narrow road as Hank drives away. It’s late afternoon and the sun shines through the kitchen windows. North opens the door tentatively and peers outside.</p><p>“What happened?” she asks and Connor lets out the breath he has been holding for the past minute, feeling himself deflate.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says. North waits for more to come out of his mouth, but Connor throws his hands in the air, further punctuating his words. </p><p>He sits down on the front porch when North goes back inside, muttering about the finishing touches. He finds a piece of gravel and begins to play with it, throwing it up in the air, bouncing the small rock on the palms and back of his hands. He waits. Hank must come back soon, once he’s calmed down.</p><p>He has to. </p><p>North comes back outside with Christopher and the others and asks Connor to come back to Detroit with them. When he declines the offer, she looks at him with a look of pity and hands him the keys to the house. </p><p>“Thanks,” Connor smiles thinly. </p><p>It’s dark outside and Connor follows the lights down the road, before they disappear. He sits there, back straight and hands on his knees. If he were human he would have problems seeing anything at this moment, but his nocturnal vision is advanced enough that the dark doesn’t really bother him. </p><p>***</p><p>His internal clock registers the time as 10:32 pm when the crunch of Hank’s tyres is picked up by his audio components. Hank is going to jump out of his skin if he finds Connor there in the dark, so he accesses the dimmer control on the lights outside and turns them on. Flies are quickly circulating around the lamps.</p><p>Hank’s headlights illuminate the garden before he turns off the engine. He gets out and soon finds Connor’s eyes. The thud of the shutting car door is loud in the silence that stretches between them. </p><p>Connor steps down from the front porch, walks up to Hank where he rests against the hood of his car, and he leans next to him.</p><p>They stand like that for a while. Then Hank scrubs a hand over his face. Connor watches him closely, while trying not to look like he’s observing him. </p><p>When Hank finally looks up at him, he looks tired. Connor raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is an invite.</p><p>“Connor, this…” Hank begins, but trails off, turns his gaze to the house again. Connor looks back as well, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Hank’s eyes glisten from tears. </p><p>There are owls hooting. Connor can see the moon and even stars out. </p><p>“This is difficult to...” Hank tries again, and Connor hums in understanding. He doesn’t understand at all what Hank is trying to tell him, though. “I thought. I thought you were going out with friends, or, or. You were on dates or something. Not that you’d be working your ass off on this.” He gestures with his hand to the house. Connor feels mildly confused. </p><p>“I was just trying to get it into a better shape,” Connor says and feels defensive about it. After all, Hank put this responsibility on him. Did he really think that Connor would half-ass something like this? “I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries, but I thought it was okay to take a few liberties with it.”</p><p>“No, you’re right, of course,” Hank scoffs, not entirely nice. Connor is starting to get annoyed with him.</p><p>“What is the problem, then?” he hears himself ask tersely and Hank’s head snaps up. He looks tired. He has been looking like that for months now. Connor realizes with a twinge of guilt that Hank has been struggling a lot since he started working again. He wishes he would have been home a little more, now.</p><p>“You couldn’t possibly understand, Connor,” Hank sighs. “That’s the problem.”</p><p>“Why don’t you explain it to me, then?”</p><p>“Explain why I’m finding it hard that you’ve been doing an extreme makeover on my house without telling me?” Hank says, dragging his hands through his hair. It’s tough to see him so upset. Connor wishes that he understood, and he has the inexplicable desire to hug him, to pet his head and tell him that no matter what he thinks, he is not alone, that Connor only wants the best for him.</p><p>He reaches out a hand, but pulls it back as Hank looks up again. “You know what, whatever. It looks good, I’m glad you’ve done it so well, Connor.” He claps Connor on the shoulder and walks around the house.</p><p>Connor stands there. What just happened?</p><p>“You don’t sound very glad, Hank.”</p><p>“I am. Super fucking happy,” Hank deadpans and Connor discerns a small smile, though it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. </p><p>Hank is trying to be nice by covering up his feelings. Right now, Connor hasn’t entered stasis in far too long and his systems feel too sluggish for him to put up a fight about it. It’s the month of May, the weather getting warmer, but it’s still so dark outside that there’s no point in inspecting the exterior right now. Connor doubts that Hank dares to go back inside again, thinks it will take time to get him back here. For now, he follows Hank to the backyard, still unkempt and wild. He doesn’t know how to make things better, yet. </p><p>“Swing set’s gone,” Hank comments when Connor catches up to him. He breathes in deeply and exhales in a loud sigh. His expression holds an emotion that Connor can’t quite read.</p><p>It’s a stiff ride back. Connor sits in the passenger seat, fiddling with the playlist. Usually, Hank puts on one of those dreadful heavy metal bands on full blast, especially when he’s in a bad mood, and the lack of angry music this evening is unnerving. Even though Connor knows in his heart that it wouldn’t be reciprocated, even if he would be turned down or yelled at, he longs to reach the small distance between them and put his hand on Hank’s again.</p><p>It’s not romantic, he tells himself, just an assuring press of his palm meant to calm Hank down from his tense state. If he knew that Hank would be fine with it, he would always do it, every single day. The only time he really had the metaphorical guts to do it was at a time when Hank was in such distress that the likelihood of him shaking off Connor’s advances was extremely low.</p><p>“So, what do you think?” he eventually pipes up, feeling wound up like a spring, his sensors picking up any signals they can get their hands on. Hank gives him a quick glance and huffs. </p><p>“What do you want me to say?”</p><p><em> Anything, please. </em> </p><p>“Well, once the delightful surprise of seeing your property renovated and fixed up has subsided, maybe you could find your words and tell me?” </p><p>The words are completely the wrong thing to say. He is painfully aware and he has got the feeling that he has stepped over some line, but then again, Hank should be able to take it. He usually does.</p><p>This time, however, Hank’s hands tighten on the wheel and he makes quick work of the display between them, until Connor’s most hated song plays on a dangerously high volume. </p><p>***</p><p>“Our realtor agent will try to get it sold in early september, so there’s the rest of the summer for us to go up there and spend some days,” Connor informs Hank the next day over breakfast. Hank sips his coffee, frowning at him. </p><p>“Why?” he asks suspiciously. </p><p>“I think,” Connor begins, and he chooses his words wisely, “that perhaps saying goodbye to the house might be less traumatic for you if you could create some new, happier memories there. Ones that don’t involve...”</p><p>He stops himself there. He was going to say death, but Hank seems to get it. He nods as if letting the thought marinate, then takes another sip of his coffee. He is still upset, Connor knows that and he understands, sort of, why that is. But some part of him just wants to show him. He can’t help himself.</p><p>“And I also want to show you what me and the other androids have done to the place.” He is quite proud of it, after all.</p><p>Hank sets down his cup, turns it a few times on the table. The crease between his brows is deep. Connor waits.</p><p>“Fine,” Hank finally says and Connor just about manages to contain himself.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Relax</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoy this chapter that is a lovely combination of fluff and angst, and some sexual tension. Thank you for leaving kudos and comments, you are the best!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They decide to wait until Hank has a few weeks off. While he works his last week in June, Connor finishes the last touches on the house after every meeting with Jericho. Now that Hank is aware of where he’s going, Connor doesn’t try to come home in time anymore, preferring to spend time on the house until it’s as good as finished. He notifies Markus that he’ll be away for a few weeks and that he won’t be available as much during this time. </p><p>The fight they had is swept under the rug, or rather, Hank shoves it under the rug and steps on the fringes of it as soon as Connor tries to bring it up. It’s frustrating, because all Connor wants is to make this right, and he can’t do that if Hank refuses to talk. There’s a nagging fear in the back of his mind, one that has been lurking in him for a while. What if this is it, the last straw of Connor’s apparently weird habits, his quirks and his insensitivities?</p><p>Then one morning in late June, Connor packs clothes, bedsheets and food in the trunk, while Hank gets Sumo in the backseat, and then they’re off. Hank still hasn’t kicked him out, though somehow the trip to Greenpine makes Connor think of the human expression “walking to the gallows”.</p><p>They let one of the local radio stations play on low volume while hank drives them the hour it takes. This is the longest time they’ve spent in close proximity to each other in weeks, and Connor observes the way Hank’s shoulders hunch, the thin line of his mouth as he nods at something Connor says. </p><p>It’s sad - they have never been this awkward around each other, not even during their first meeting. Connor was hoping, before all of this, that the house would be what brought them together into something else, something he has yet to address to himself. Now, this morning, it feels like it might be the end of what little they have.</p><p>When they arrive and the engine dies down Hank stares out the window at the house, and Connor doesn’t dare interrupt his line of thoughts. That is, until Sumo starts whining and sticks his head between them to lick at Hank’s face. </p><p>“All right, you baby,” Hank mutters, and gets out of the car to let him out. Dog hair flies everywhere in Sumo’s wake, sticking to the headrest and the neck of Hank’s shirt. Sumo seems to recognize the place, judging by his excited barks and tail wagging furiously while he sniffs the ground. Connor unpacks the car and walks behind Hank towards the front porch. There’s the ghost of a smile on Hank’s lips, probably because of Sumo’s energetic search around the lawn. Hank closes the gate after them and power walks over to open the front door for Connor, whose arms still carry all of their luggage. Sumo squeezes in through the door first and inspects every single room in the small house, while Connor does the bed and puts Hank’s clothes inside the new wardrobe.</p><p>In the living room, Hank is quiet. Connor raises his audio reception to listen in, but there’s not much sound coming from there. All he sees is how Hank walks around the house and letting his fingertips drag against every surface. Wanting to say something but understanding that Hank needs his space to settle in, Connor pretends that he isn’t listening. Then Hank stops at the fireplace and frowns at the bricks. Connor walks out of the bedroom and nervously knits his hands.</p><p>“It’s, um, North’s idea.” </p><p>Hank nods. “Looks good,” he says. He sounds calm, but Connor sees the way his shoulders tense up. Hank continues to inspect the house, makes a few comments on the new furniture, everything excruciatingly polite. “I’m impressed, Connor.”</p><p>It would be easier, Connor thinks, if the man was yelling at him, or at least hurling insults. Anything but the way Hank acts now - nice. To anyone else, nothing would seem out of the ordinary, but Connor can practically taste the pretense on his tongue. </p><p>Maybe it was a mistake to have done anything to the house after all, because something about their relationship seems broken now. Connor debates whether he should just slip outside for a while, let Hank go through the house on his own, and maybe they can simply start over. </p><p>That’s not at all what Connor does, however.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake,” he blurts out, a bit too loudly, which causes Hank to jump. He looks scandalized, as if Connor swearing is not a direct product of Hank using every chance he gets to squeeze in any sentence enhancers. “Hank, just say it. Just tell me that you hate it.”</p><p>Hank clenches his fists at his sides, his cheeks turning redder by the second. </p><p>“I’ve nothing to say,” he replies stubbornly and Connor steels himself, hands on his hips.</p><p>“You do. I can practically hear your thoughts from here.” It used to be an inside joke, that Connor can read Hank’s moods so well that he knows what’s up before even Hank does. It’s not meant as a joke, this time. “Somehow I messed this up, and I’d like to know how I can set things right.” </p><p>He waits, and for a moment he wonders if Hank will just walk away. Hank turns away, looking for the exit. He’s standing stock still. Connor gets ready to grab his hand if he runs for it, but then Hank whips around, and an angry finger comes up to jab directly at Connor. </p><p>“Yes, you fucking messed things up!” he roars, “I just wanted this house gone. You were supposed to get it of my hands, not play psychologist and try to fucking heal me, or whatever this is!” He gestures around the room. Connor hears his shallow breathing, feels his own breath coming in short. He wasn’t prepared for Hank to cut to the core so quickly. His reaction must be plain on his face, because Hank scoffs. “Yeah, I see what you’re trying to do. You couldn’t just let it be, could you? You just poke and prod at everything, even when I fucking ask you not to!”</p><p>Hank raises his voice again, and maybe he sees Connor flinching at the words, because he takes a deep breath and backs off. Connor can tell in the way Hank hunches over that he’s retreating, and no, he can’t have that.</p><p>“Yeah, fuck me for trying to help my best friend not to keel over.” Connor doesn’t want to be mean, but his initial task, ‘Apologize to Hank’ is overridden by ‘Defend myself’, which translates into having a shouting match. “I’ve put all of my spare time into this, and you can barely thank me. Is it so fucking difficult to just accept help from me?” </p><p>“I didn't ask you to waste your time on this,” Hank counters. “You <em> can’t </em> help me! And these things,” he gestures towards the flowers on the window sill, the neatly organized books, the paintings on the walls, “They don’t fix anything, okay? You can't fix me.” There’s an edge of frustration, or desperation, hidden in his words.</p><p>“You’re not even trying, Hank. You just enjoy feeling sad for yourself because the idea of happiness is terrifying. But I’m not going anywhere, so stop being such a baby and let me help!”</p><p>The words flow out of him on their own accord. He stomps his foot on the floor in frustration, and it nearly throws them off, the action looking absolutely ridiculous. Hank’s mouth twitches, and in one fragile moment, they are both on the verge of laughing. </p><p>Then Hank slouches on the couch and hides his face in his hands. </p><p>It doesn’t feel like they’ve actually moved on, but Connor doesn’t know how to talk about this without shouting at each other, so he sits down next to Hank, wedging his hands beneath his legs. </p><p>“So.  What do we do now, then?” Hank asks, lifting his head to stare out the window. There’s some other question underlying his words. Connor sighs. </p><p>“We’ll be on vacation.”</p><p>***</p><p>Connor is mowing the lawn. He could just have bought one of those autonomous mowers, but Hank suspects he elected to use the old one stuffed away in the cellar, because Hank prefers to use the old school lawn mower, the ones that you either need gas for or the slightly more modern that runs on electricity. </p><p>Always molding himself, changing to fit right next to Hank, always taking care of him. It’s sweet, and at the same time fills Hank with a sense of shame. Because that's the problem, isn't it? </p><p>When met with resistance, Connor insists that Hank should be allowed to relax on his vacation, which is why Hank has been placed in a sun chair on the stone steps outside the back porch, with a cold drink and one of the books he has picked up months ago, and never found energy to start on.</p><p>Once more, Hank is reminded of the fight they had this morning, and he tries not to let it upset him. Even though Connor is trying to rectify his well meaning mistake, Hank keeps pushing everything, purely out of spite. It’s not fair in the least, to be mad at Connor for being too caring, but Hank doesn’t feel like a rational human being right now, anyway. Not like he has been acting like a responsible, rational adult in a while. </p><p>Hank takes a sip. The drink is of course damn near perfect, chilled and fruity. It only fuels his frustration. </p><p>Every other turn that Connor makes with the mower, he glances up at Hank, sad puppy dog eyes etched onto his face. The shirt he’s wearing is a loose fit, and the cream colored linen flutters in the breeze. Hank pretends not to notice, sinking his nose further into the book, glad that he’s wearing sunglasses and is able to hide that he’s finding it difficult to focus on the text when Connor passes him. </p><p>The loud humming of the engine is a familiar ambience to the scene, barely drowning out the soft beats from the radio on the side table next to him. The smell of gasoline and freshly cut grass is setting off some uncomfortable sensations in his chest. He subconsciously scratches against his throat, hoping his fingers can pull out the odd feeling.</p><p> Despite both their best efforts, the fight sits there between them all afternoon. Connor stops cutting the grass and makes a move to grab another drink for Hank, which he promptly refuses, being damn tired of letting Connor wait on him like this. He grumbles about starting to call Connor “Jeeves” if he keeps this up. </p><p>Connor looks peeved about it, but doesn’t say anything. He goes back out on the lawn, bending over to sort something out of the mower, one of Sumo's chew toys that apparently is jammed inside. </p><p>Hank hides behind his book to mask his humiliating blush as he notices Connor wiping his oiled hands on a rag. His dirty fingers and arms shouldn’t look so damn attractive, though they do. When Connor sweeps back his hair out of his face, Hank grumbles to himself, face ruddy and hot. Fucking hell.</p><p>Being likened to a butler is what makes Connor abandon the lawnmowing altogether after only another minute, or maybe it's the feeling of oil and shit on his skin. He swears at the machine in front of him, and Hank almost forgets that he's still angry, because a joke about treating a senior with respect is on his tongue, before he stops himself.</p><p>Connor doesn’t push it, even though he’s scowling at Hank as he walks back inside with the rag in his hands. Hank hears the sink run in the kitchen and makes another attempt to read the third chapter of the book. He thinks he got through to Connor, that he'll stop trying too hard to make everything better.</p><p>Still, the next time Hank glances up from his reading he finds that his glass has been replaced. Connor is not in sight. The garden is awfully quiet now, the only sounds coming from rustling leaves and bees buzzing. </p><p> Hank finds himself unable to focus on the story again. He takes a sip of the drink, poured into an old glass that he vaguely remembers coming from his mother’s old cabinet. This drink is even better than the last.</p><p>He puts away the book, calling it a bad job, and leans back in the chair, sunglasses on and hands folded on his stomach. The shirt is starting to cling to his skin, the turquoise color turning dark under his pits and on his chest. He should go inside and cool off, except there’s no air conditioning here and the sun has been scorching all day.</p><p>Sumo is hiding inside, panting and sleeping throughout the day. It appears he has saved his energy for the evening, when Connor takes him on a long walk around the lake. After dinner, Connor turns to Hank and asks him to join. Hank declines and grouses about there being too many bugs outside. Truth be told, he is still upset about Connor keeping this from him. Seeing the house, <em> his </em>house, turned inside out and painted and built upon until almost unrecognizable, well, it hurts. Even though Connor had good intentions, it’s disturbing to see how far he came until Hank found out about it. Was he ever going to tell him? </p><p>There’s another layer to these feelings, of course. The revelation that this is where Connor has been spending his time also clears up some things that Hank hasn’t dared to think too hard about. It means Connor hasn’t been dating anyone, hasn’t been living some sort of new, happier life. It is both thrilling and scary. </p><p>Thrilling, because somewhere deep inside Hank, he knows there are treacherous feelings waiting to poke their ugly heads up from the dark corners of his heart. Scary, because he can’t help but feel like it’s his fault that Connor isn’t socializing enough. He doesn’t want to carry that responsibility for Connor’s personal growth, yet he sort of feels like he does.</p><p>Connor comes back from the walk an hour later, and asks Hank if he’d join him for their morning walk the next day. Hank grunts a “maybe,” but Connor seems satisfied with that.</p><p>By the time he goes to bed, Connor has managed to clean up the kitchen. He says a quiet good night as Hank closes the door to the bedroom. </p><p>***</p><p>The old bed he used to share with his ex wife has definitely seen better days. Hank sighs and turns once again, trying and failin to find a comfortable position lying on his side. It makes the mattress groan and the springs squeak. His back will be screaming tomorrow, he thinks. For a brief moment, he wonders if the couch would be a better place to sleep, but remembers quickly that that’s a no-no. He wishes that he hadn't yelled at Connor. He regretted it the second the words left his mouth.</p><p>Connor is sitting on the couch, deep in his stasis mode with Sumo across his lap. He’s probably just sitting with his back straight, hands on his lap. Maybe his eyes are still open. Hank grunts again as he lies on his back. He stares up at the ceiling. It’s not so dark that he doesn’t see anything. The open window with the mosquito nets blows soft breezes that make the thin curtains flow, and yet his T-shirt is sticking to his chest and back. The fan on his nightstand doesn’t do much at all.</p><p>Hank hears a rustling outside the bedroom. A moment later, Connor softly knocks on the door and, upon hearing Hank’s grunt, eases the door open, a cautious look on his face.</p><p>“Can’t sleep either?” </p><p>His voice is so small and Hank hates himself a little more. He sits up, groaning at the loud protests from the bed.</p><p>“You too?” he whispers. Why is he whispering? There’s no one else around. </p><p>Connor nods, hovering by the door. Hank stays perfectly still. He thinks Connor can hear his loud breathing.</p><p>Out in the living room Sumo is snoring. The wall clock ticks, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room. </p><p>“Can we talk?” Connor asks, the sudden sound of his voice again throwing Hank completely off. </p><p>“‘Bout what?” Hank asks, though he knows. Maybe being obtuse will buy him some time, he hopes. When Connor tilts his head with a disappointed pout, Hank sighs and does his best to scoot across the mattress to make room for him. </p><p>In a few, effective, steps, Connor is right by the edge of the bed, sitting down carefully as if not to disturb the covers. He looks over at Hank from over his shoulder, seemingly waiting for Hank to say something. Quietly he lies back down. Hank still waits for him to speak. He's not sure he can mask his own emotions if Connor asks what he's scared he'll ask. His hand twitches against his pillow. It's dangerously close to Connor's temple.</p><p>“Are you still angry?” Connor asks after five minutes. His voice is flat, which is a clear tell of how unsure he actually is. </p><p>Hank sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to sleep and forget this day, even wishing he was back home in his own bed, alone in a house that doesn’t keep any physical memories of his old life. </p><p>He slows his breath even more, finding it easy to fake, since he already is halfway to falling asleep.</p><p>“Hank?” Connor whispers. Hank grunts, focusing on sounding like he’s barely awake. <em> Please drop it, </em> he thinks, and Connor eventually does.</p><p>***</p><p>The first rays of morning light burns through the old curtains, blinding Hank the way it shines right at his face. He grumbles and covers his face with his arm, grunting when he turns to his side. The whole room is lit up and hot like hell, a jarring contrast to the darkness when he fell asleep. The sheets are tangled around him and he starts to kick them off, reaching for his bed stand where he put a glass of water last night. Mind still foggy from sleep, he slowly sits up at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and downing the whole glass. He turns his head to the other side of the bed, and only then does he remember the person that lay beside him all night.</p><p>Hank puts his glass down quietly, staring at the barely rumpled blankets. He scoots back and leans over to drag his hand over the fabric, on the place where Connor was lying down last night. Apart from the spots where the sun is scorching, the blankets are cold. </p><p><em> Fuck it </em>, Hank thinks. He should just apologize. He knows he should, because he is in the wrong. Connor did what Connor always does with everything. He takes tasks seriously and never does anything halfway. Of course he would see the mess of this unkempt hovel and come to the conclusion that something had to be done about it. Hank can’t really blame him for that.</p><p>He puts on his slippers and grabs the old dressing gown from one of the closets. It smells old, and yet it still carries some sort of familiar smell that stirs up some old pain in his chest.</p><p>The curtains are pulled aside in the rest of house, cascading morning light inside. </p><p>For their routine at home, Connor will clock the exact time when Hank usually wakes up, and since Connor never needs to rest as much, he brews the coffee right before Hank gets out of bed, so the scent fills up the entire kitchen by the time comes out of the bedroom. Hank needed to complain about it the first week of living together, insisting that Connor must have something better to do than make him breakfast like a housewife, but soon he grew used to it. There’s never been any stopping Connor, after all. </p><p>Hank doesn’t know how to thank him for that, but he’s grateful all the same for every morning when he stumbles into the kitchen to find Connor there. Now more than ever, Hank has come to associate the smell of freshly ground coffee with <em> home. </em></p><p>There’s no coffee puttering in the small kitchen. The room smells of the food he ate last night. Sumo perks up on the couch and judging from his energetic tail wagging, he hasn’t been on his morning walk yet.</p><p>“Connor?” Hank calls, even though he knows Connor wouldn’t just ignore Sumo in the mornings. Either Connor was anxious to go wherever he has gone, or - or he left in the night.</p><p>Hank doesn’t like to believe he has put any expectations on Connor. From the first day they moved in together, he has been clear about how Connor doesn’t owe him shit. Not financially, not emotionally, not in any way. If there’s one thing he has always wanted from Connor, is for him to be his own person, to make his own decisions and leave if he’d want to. He doesn’t want Connor to be the most important person in his life, either. Yet, when he checks the kitchen table, and the door, and he finds no note from Connor, a sliver of panic jolts through him from his toes and up his spine.</p><p>Connor is gone.</p><p>Hank tries calling him a few times. The first ones go straight to voicemail and he wonders if there’s not enough reception out on the countryside. But when Connor doesn’t pick up on the first ring, the way he usually does, Hank has to sit down and focus on his breathing. He is overreacting, he thinks. Connor is probably picking something up.</p><p>It’s still strange that he hasn’t left a note, or that he doesn’t answer when Hank calls. The facts are there, but it takes Hank another hopeful, and pointless, hour of waiting on the couch, before he has to come to terms with what has happened. His heart sinks.</p><p>Connor has left.</p><p>It’s Hank’s fault, too. He has been nothing but rude and distant since he came here. After everything Connor has done for him, the way he selflessly has made it his mission to be there for Hank, to make him happy and to help him get through the process of selling this house. Connor has been a loyal and helpful friend all this time and Hank has been a piece of shit. </p><p>Hank debates whether he should wait another hour before he goes back home - after all, there’s no point in being stuck here if Connor isn’t coming back. He also figures that he could go home right now, and perhaps do some damage control by checking if Connor has made a stop at their house. Hank feels nauseous at the thought of finding the house cleared of any sign of Connor. </p><p>“Fuck,” he hisses, aggressively putting on the first pair of pants he finds, “Shit. <em> Shit.” </em>Sumo is up and running by the time Hank stands by the door, fully dressed and with the leash in his hand.</p><p>He doesn’t know where to start, but he knows he’s gotta find him. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Connor doesn’t really know what kind of help he expected when he showed up at Markus’ doorstep in the early morning. All he knows, as he sits down in one of the loveseats, is that he needs someone to tell him what to do about Hank.</p><p>The night was the last straw. For all Hank is a great actor when it comes to being under cover, he is absolute shit at pretending to be asleep. </p><p>Connor knows he has stepped in it, that he needs to tread this new chapter of their friendship carefully. It’s tricky and he just wants a clear path to follow. That’s why he got up as early as he did, even before Sumo would want to go outside, and waited at the bus stop for the first bus to take him to Detroit. </p><p>He fidgets with his fingers, keeping them busy while he waits. </p><p>“Hey Connor,” Josh calls from the balcony in the main room. Connor looks up, smiles at him. He likes Josh, who always has been an empathetic, and above all, careful, ally to Markus. Not like the others in the core group. Not like Connor, who keeps throwing himself at anything head-on without much thought. Connor could use a friend like Josh, he thinks.</p><p>But he’s not the one he is looking for right now.</p><p>“Here to see Markus?” Josh asks and Connor nods, folding his hands in his lap. The visit is a little last-minute, because Connor couldn’t get a signal before he came closer to Detroit. </p><p>Connor and Josh talk a little, before the doors open and Markus walks in, his usual warm demeanor spreading into the room like a soft blanket. </p><p>They gather in his office, after North and Simon have been asked to leave. It’s not that Connor doesn’t trust them, but he feels embarrassed enough as it is and he’d prefer to keep as few people as possible in the know. </p><p>Once they’re alone, Markus tilts his head.</p><p>“What’s wrong? I thought you were going off the grid for a while.”</p><p>" I need your advice," Connor says.</p><p>It’s easier to talk to Markus. He understands the complexity of androids’ relationships with humans. He knows what it’s like to both be wary of them as a group, and also find comfort in being close to individuals. </p><p>Not that his relationship with Carl is the same as Connor and Hank’s, but it feels easier talking to him anyway.</p><p>Markus leans against his desk, waiting for Connor to explain. Connor sighs, coming close enough to reach for Markus’ forearm. He pauses before he retracts his synthetic skin, looking for confirmation that this is okay. Markus smiles and reveals the white plastic underneath. Connor lets him in through the interface, concentrating on only letting him see the parts that he wishes to convey to him. He doesn’t want to reveal just how much space he’s released in his backup hard drive just for details like the color and texture of Hank’s hair.</p><p>He shows Markus snapshots from the months living with Hank. Hank’s reaction to the renovation of the house, the way he has been distancing himself ever since. Markus scrunches his eyes in concentration.</p><p>“I see,” he eventually says when they break the connection and Connor doesn’t think that helps at all. “You and Lieutenant Anderson are having a domestic?” </p><p>Connor can’t blush, and right now he’s thankful for it, though judging by Markus’ pleased smile, his face reveals his feelings anyway.</p><p>“I guess so,” he admits. “Hank is not happy about what we’ve done to his house, and I think I understand why, but…” Connor struggles to find the words. “I also don’t understand why he won’t even try to enjoy himself. It should be relaxing, shouldn’t it?”</p><p>Hank’s angry face comes to the front of his mind and Connor needs to sit down, now. On one of the armchairs, he leans forward with his hands covering his face. It’s so difficult, to do these things, thinking he’s handling this well, that Hank is going to be happy again, that Connor made him happy. It’s irrational, and that alone bothers Connor more than anything. He’s read about depression, about the lasting effects on the human psyche after a traumatic loss - He knows it’s not an on/off switch. Yet he kind of had hoped…</p><p>“Connor,” Markus cuts through his spiralling thoughts. Connor looks up from his hands and find Markus’ kind eyes on him. “I honestly don’t know how you will solve this problem, but I do know that the lieutenant cares a great deal about you. I think…” He pauses, tilting his head in contemplation. ”Human emotions are far more complicated than we give them credit for. From what I gather, even he might not completely get why he’s still upset.”</p><p>Connor sags. It doesn’t help him all that much, really.</p><p>“I figured as much. I’m sorry for taking up your time, I know you’re busy.” He stands up, straightening out his dress shirt. Markus reaches out a hand.</p><p>“I think you might just need to give him some time to get used to it, is all.”</p><p>“He has already got time,” Connor frowns.</p><p>“Sorry that I can’t help,” Markus says, and he really does sound sorry. </p><p>“I think it helped a little, to just share some of it with someone else.” Connor thinks that’s true, that it’s a relief to get another perspective on things.</p><p>“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” Markus smiles.</p><p>Their conversation is cut short as Connor picks up a loud pair of feet marching down the corridor outside. He and Markus turn around, half expecting to find an angry trespasser burst open the door. Instead of breaking the door down, the person behind it knocks forcefully.</p><p>“<em> Connor </em>?”</p><p>It’s Hank. His voice is agitated.</p><p>“Shit,” Connor murmurs, because he doesn’t know how to handle this, can’t say if he wants another fight with Hank in front of Markus. He doesn’t notice the nervous way he cards a hand through his hair, focused on keeping his internal fans on cooldown.</p><p>Markus strides calmly towards the door, gently calling, “Hold on, I’m coming!”</p><p>When Markus opens the door, Connor’s breath involuntarily hitches at the sight of Hank, stumbling through it. His thirium pump pounds against his artificial ribcage, getting ready for bad news, because there’s no other reason Hank would show up in a hurry like this, without calling first.</p><p>“Connor, fuck,” Hank wheezes and leans one hand against the doorway, catching his breath.</p><p>“Hank?” Connor says, dumbfounded. He tries to figure out something else to say, but his mind is blank. It’s infuriating. </p><p>Markus is about to leave and give them some privacy. Before he can, however, Hank catches his breath and quickly, with a hysterical tone, begins to talk like he hasn’t even noticed Markus is there.</p><p>“Jesus, I’m sorry. Okay?” he pants. Did he run over here? “I was way out of line last night, and I wish I’d shut my damn mouth, but please, just let me make it up to you.”</p><p>Connor stares. So does Markus. His mind is replaying what Hank just said, and he still doesn’t quite understand.</p><p>“What are you doing here, Hank?” is all he can think to ask, and Hank’s expression twists into a grimace, which confuses him even further. </p><p>“I came to ask you to-” he pauses and Connor sees the internal struggle in his eyes. He knows how hard Hank finds it to express himself in times like these.  “... To come back home. I didn't wanna chase you away.”</p><p>“Chase me away?” Connor repeats, slowly putting the pieces together, though hearing Hank tell him to come <em> home </em>takes up some processing power first. He assembles the words said from last night, and what Hank is saying. Somewhere in his memory, he finds that he left this morning without leaving any kind of indication of where he was.</p><p>“Hank, I’m only here to talk to Markus about... the house.” He pronounces the words slowly, hoping the words sink in. “I was, in fact, planning on coming back home right this moment.”</p><p>“Oh,” Hank simply says. He looks around the room as if only now registering where he is and that he just caused a scene in someone else’s house. The flush on his cheeks and his neck is sweet, Connor thinks. He wants to reassure him, but one thought is circulating and processing in his mind still.</p><p>Hank wants him around.</p><p>The surety of that statement drapes itself over him like the warm rays of sunlight outside, or in android terms, a pleasant shock of currents through his skin receptors. <em> Hank still wants him around. </em></p><p>“I’ll go see if Josh needs anything,” Markus says and with a knowing smile, he closes the door behind him. Connor sees Hank following his movement in the corner of his eye - like he's watching an opponent. He thought Connor left him for Markus. This is a very interesting piece of information that Connor files for later. </p><p>The room is quiet. Connor listens until Markus’ footfalls are distant. Hank clears his throat.</p><p>“Shit, I just made a scene, didn’t I.” It’s not a question. </p><p>“Quite,” Connor answers and enjoys watching Hank squirm. </p><p>They break eye contact as Hank stares at his own feet. Connor waits.</p><p>“Hey, I mean it. I’m sorry about...” Hank waves his hand, “Everything. You don’t deserve my crap.”</p><p>“I can take it, Hank. But yes, you could have handled the whole thing a little better,” Connor says. Hank flinches but nods. “And I’m sorry too, for keeping things secret. In retrospect, I can see how upsetting that must have been for you. I only meant to help you, but I guess I got carried away.”</p><p>Hank shakes his head.</p><p>“You didn’t do anything wrong, not really. You’re just stuck with an old stubborn ass like me.”</p><p>“I happen to like stubborn asses,” Connor says and he can’t quite stop the chuckle that escapes him.</p><p>“That’s not--” he begins, but Connor is too relieved to care at all for prodding at their previous fight now.</p><p>“Why don’t we do this again?”</p><p>“How?” Hank mumbles, voice small. Connor’s thirium pump aches.</p><p>“Hank,” Connor says, and he straightens up, cracking a smile. “Remember how you asked me to help you sell your old summer house? Well, I’ve been doing a few improvements on the structure and such, would you care to come with me and check it out?”</p><p>Hank huffs, and grumbles under his breath, “A few improvements indeed.” He does grin, which settles Connor’s nerves even further. “You’re gonna need to show me every single one of your fucking improvements, Connor. Impress me.”</p><p>“Oh, I intend to,” Connor says with a wink.</p><p>***</p><p>The rest of the day is spent mostly outside. When they’re back in the village, Hank drives to the supermarket to get some fresh bananas and syrup, insisting that his vacation has to start with pancakes with all kinds of toppings on them. Connor is all too happy to complain about his unhealthy habits, and he rolls his eyes at him. Parked on the side of the road, Connor waits in the car. Hank disappears behind the automatic doors, and Connor lets his eyes wander. </p><p>A small coffee shop has its sign in green letters on the other side of the road. He lets Sumo out and locks the doors, deciding to order some coffee for Hank. It felt wrong to not make it for him this morning, having been a nice routine that he enjoys immensely every day. There’s something about the first glance of Hank in the morning, hair tousled and his lips stretched out in yawns, and the way his eyes soften when he comes into the kitchen and sees Connor there. </p><p>The door jingles when he opens it. Soft music plays in the background, a beach inspired interior making him think of one of those old musicals Hank made him watch a long time ago. The movie was placed in Greece, if he remembers correctly. </p><p>The woman behind the counter greets him as soon as he walks in, telling him that Sumo is of course welcome inside as well. Connor lets the dog in, who immediately tries to sneak under the counter to greet her. She squats down to pet him, and Connor wonders if Sumo recognizes her from years before. </p><p>She is glad to chat with him for a while, getting interested when she sees his LED. While she takes his order and prepares the machine - it seems Connor is the first customer of the day - she talks about what she has seen of the revolution on TV. Apparently, the rumour of androids in the area has been a new spicy topic for gossip all spring.</p><p>“Well I just thought, gee, why would an android come all the way out here, anyway? Most of us work small businesses anyway, everyone knows everyone. Even Jack lets his nephew take over the car sales during the summer months, and Ken doesn’t even know how to drive! There’s no place for machines doing our jobs, or so I thought. Then again, it’s always fun to have new people visit, isn’t it?”</p><p>Connor thinks it’s a rhetorical question, and he only smiles, worrying about how to get out of this conversation once she’s done with his order. She continues talking, steaming the milk. “Then Maggie came over the other day and told me she had seen a dozen androids on one of the properties down Greenpine. Of course, she lives nearby, not like she’s been snooping or anything,” she adds and rolls her eyes like this is such a typical thing for Maggie to say. “I said, you must have been mistaken, Mags. Why the heck haven’t I seen anyone, then? Now I know you guys usually take off your light thing,” she gestures with a twirling finger at her temple”, “So I might actually have seen you guys without even knowing, though I do wanna give myself <em> some </em> credit, after all, you don’t live all your life out here without recognizing every local, y’know!” </p><p>She puts a lid on the coffee cup and packs a cinnamon bun into her paper bag, winking at him. Then she stops with her hand on the bag, looking at Connor in a funny way. “Wait, androids don’t drink coffee, do they?” she asks. Then she looks questioningly down at Sumo. Connor clears his throat.</p><p>“It’s for my friend, he’s in the supermarket at the moment. My… human friend,” he says, and when Hank that very moment comes out of the store Connor waves him over and adds, “In fact, it seems he’s done now.”</p><p>He moves to retrieve the coffee and the bun, hoping he can hide it from Hank, but the woman leans over the register to catch a glimpse.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispers, eyes widening. “If it isn’t ol’ Lieutenant coming back from the dead!”</p><p>Connor flinches at the choice of words, but then he sees the recognition in Hank’s demeanor as he walks in, the bell by the door clanging. </p><p>“Rita, been a while,” Hank says warmly by way of greeting and allows for a hug when she ducks under the counter and envelops him tightly. “You haven’t aged a day, huh?”</p><p>Rita swats his arm playfully. “Don’t you start, Mister! And I thought I recognized Sumo. He sure recognized me, didn’t you, boy?” She ruffles his fur. “ He’s so big now.” Then she brings her hands to her face, face in shock. “Oh! So it was <em> your </em>house that Maggie saw all those androids at! Have you been promoted, or how did you pay for all that?” It’s not really a question, again a rhetorical one, but Hank still shrugs and answers.</p><p>“It was really just a favor for a friend,” he says with a nod to Connor, who again is grateful for not being able to blush. “Nice seeing you Rita, but we best be off. Haven’t had my breakfast, yet.” Rita smiles mischievously at Connor. </p><p>“I think your friend has that covered,” she says with a wink.</p><p>Hank manages to wrap up the conversation eventually, and Connor hurries out the door before she can start up a new one. Thankfully, a couple comes through the door and Rita is immediately occupied by them.</p><p>“Old friend?” Connor asks when they’re back in the car. Hank takes a moment to answer, sipping of the coffee. He inhales deeply, savoring the taste and smell. </p><p>“Shit’s good, Con. Thanks,” he says and puts it down into one of the cup holders. “Nah, wouldn’t say friend, exactly. It’s just, the locals here tend to know just about everyone. It’s nice in some ways, I guess. Though I’m surprised she remembers me. Haven’t been here in a while. She would always sneak in candy for Cole when we came over there.” His words take a sharp stop, but even though his eyes glaze over, it makes Connor feel lighter, knowing Hank feels safe enough to talk about his past. Then Hank turns on the engine, looking at Connor with a teasing smile. “Now, someone has promised me pancakes with gallons of pancake syrup on, I’d like him to make good on that promise,” he says. </p><p>It almost feels like one of their old conversations. Connor doesn’t really cry, his body isn’t programmed to react that way, but the overwhelming tug at his heart makes him want to. Hank laughs when Connor, on principle, counters that he has not promised him <em> gallons </em>, and Connor almost feels prickles of tears in the corner of his eyes.</p><p>***</p><p>The heat is uncomfortable, to say the least. Connor has changed into shorts now, after Hank complained that he started sweating just from looking at him in his dark jeans and long sleeves. They have to wear their sandals outside, because the ground is scorching their feet otherwise.</p><p>Hank wants to just throw off his clothes and live in the fridge the rest of the day, but he also finds he wants to make use of this day, with Connor. If he still feels like the scum of the earth and wants to show Connor how much he appreciates his efforts, well, a little sucking up never hurt anyone.</p><p>“Do we still got the hose?” Hank asks and walks down the stony stairs outside, Connor at his heels. He finds his old cellar keys under one of the old vases and unlocks the door. The cellar is dark and murky, like they usually are. It seems the smell of mold is gone, but then again, it probably won’t be long until it returns, he thinks. It always comes back.</p><p>“It’s in its usual spot,” Connor informs him. “Though I’ve exchanged it for one without any holes taped over.” </p><p>Hank plugs one connector of the hose into the water tap in the utility room and rolls out, one hand on the handle of the reel cart. When Hank has pulled the cart to the middle of the back garden, he calls for Sumo, who’s panting in the shadows of one of the Paper birches.</p><p>The dog stares at him, reluctant to leave his spot, until he turns on the nozzle and a spray of water shoots out. Then he's immediately up and running, tongue lolling out as he gallops across the lawn to catch the jet. Hank makes him jump to catch it with his jaws, lets him run this way and that. Within the minute, Sumo is soaked head to toe, and absolutely thrilled at the brilliant game. Hank can’t stop laughing, even as Sumo shakes his fur and drenches his clothes as well. Behind him, he hears Connor giggle, a sweet and funny sound that makes Hank’s grin widen further. He hands him the nozzle.</p><p>“Care to try?” he asks. Connor looks uncertain, as if he’s taking away something from Hank. “C’mon, it’s fun.” After a second’s hesitation, Connor grabs the handle and twists between settings. Sumo barks impatiently at him. Hank waits, knowing Connor sometimes needs to think things through like this.</p><p>He immediately regrets giving him the opportunity, when Connor stops changing the settings and presses down on the handle, spraying Hank down until he’s completely drenched. </p><p>Hank yelps and tries to jump out of the way, and now the fucker is laughing maniacally at him, even as he tries to follow Hank’s steps. Sumo barks with joy and comes after him as well.</p><p>“You goddamn traitor,” Hank roars, but he can’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice. He lunges for Connor who, still laughing, jumps out of the way and turns the spray on Hank’s face. Hank protects himself with his hands and tackles him to the ground. Connor lets out an “Ouff!” when they land on the grass, Sumo running around them and nuzzling at his head. </p><p>“Time for revenge,” Hank says and grabs the hose before Connor is ready for it, and shoots a quick jet right between his eyes.</p><p>Connor sputters and yells, “No more! I yield, I yield!” while simultaneously giggling.</p><p>“Should teach you to respect your elders,” Hank grunts, still grinning. Connor struggles and Hank grabs his wrists, wrenching the hose out of his hand. It’s playful, light hearted wrestling. </p><p>Then Connor completely disarms him by tugging at his wrist in Hank’s hand, pulling close enough that he’s able to plant a soft, wet kiss to the inside of Hank’s own wrist. Hank’s breath stutters and his grip on Connor softens enough that he barely notices the way Connor hooks his legs and turns them over, pinning Hank to the ground.</p><p>“Should teach you not to fight a machine,” Connor smirks. </p><p>Hank is winded now, breathing sharply as Connor straddles him. </p><p>“That’s cheating,” he groans once he finds his voice again, and Connor looks pleased. He stands up and grabs the hose again, reaching a hand out to Hank. </p><p>“It’s tactical. Also, you’ve got ten seconds,” Connor says and waves the hose in his hand. Hank gapes at him, but when Connor starts to count down, he makes a run for it to the house. At first it’s only to protect himself, pretty sure that Connor won’t spray him inside. Then he finds a bucket under the sink.</p><p>They call it quits when Hank finds not only himself dripping wet, but his clothes covered in grass and dirt. Sumo cowers on the porch, trying to dry off and the afternoon is not as oppressive in its heat anymore.</p><p>***</p><p>The weather stays the same for a few days and there are times when it’s not possible to go outside. So when the clouds finally gather on the horizon one day, Hank hopes for some rain. It would do the dried up lawn some good. Connor informs him that the weather prognosis suggests thunderstorms in the upcoming days, though Hank could have told him that just from the oppressive heat and thickness in the air. It gives him a headache all day, and he can barely move from his position on the couch. </p><p>Connor ventures to the village with a small shopping list, and returns with groceries and pain killers. He begrudges himself out loud for not having thought to bring any medical supplies, to which Hank reassures him to his best abilities. </p><p>“Come on, you’ve thought of just about anything. And I’m not gonna die from a bit of headache. It’s fine.”</p><p>Connor is still discontented, but when Hank finally has swallowed the pill and downed the whole glass of water, he relaxes.</p><p>“Can I get you another cold towel?” he asks, reaching out his hand to take off the one already placed on Hank’s forehead. Hank takes his hand and pulls him down on the couch. Connor stumbles, but corrects himself and sits down next to Hank, lifting his legs off the floor and onto his lap. Hank sighs and rests his hand on his head. Still feels like someone hammering against his skull. </p><p>“Come on, let’s chill for a while. We could do a puzzle, or something.” Connor stares incredulous at him. </p><p>“I didn’t take you for the puzzle type,” he says wryly. Hank shrugs. </p><p>“Can’t a man have layers?”</p><p>They upend an old 500 piece puzzle on the side table and spend the next few hours piecing it together. If the side of Hank’s thigh is pressing into Connor’s a little more than is necessary, neither of them comment on it.</p><p>When there’s only a small patch left of the puzzle, Connor clears his throat.</p><p>“Hank?” </p><p>Hank looks up from where he’s perched at the edge of the couch, comparing two seemingly identical puzzle pieces. Connor looks worried.</p><p>“What? Don’t tell me there’s a missing piece somewhere,” he says, opting for a light joke to ease the tension that spreads through the room. Connor bites his lip.</p><p>“Is this okay?” he asks. “All of this, I mean. Am I making things worse for you out here? Because, if you’d rather be back in Detroit, we could--”</p><p>Hank interrupts him.</p><p>“Why do you think I’m not okay?” he says, backtracking in his mind to recognize if he has made any impression on Connor that he isn’t fine. “Is it about the painkillers? Look, I keep telling you, it’s all right.”</p><p>“No, that’s not what I meant.” Connor really does look worried, and Hank feels terrible. How to explain to this person, who is not like any human being on earth, and yet is so painfully human in his emotions, that his existence only makes Hank’s life better.</p><p>“Connor,” Hank says, and he tries to put emphasis on his words. “Connor, you did fantastic with all of this, and I'm sorry for being an ass about it. I’m so proud of you for everything that you do,” he continues and places a firm hand on the back of Connor’s neck, “and I’m equally grateful that you let me be a part of your life, okay?”</p><p>He instantly regrets what he has said, because now Connor must know, he must be able to look between the words and see Hank’s thinly veiled adoration. The words have tumbled out and Hank didn’t know how to stop them before he heard himself express them. Connor now knows, and he will leave. He will reject Hank politely and move away.</p><p>Except, of course, Connor doesn’t. Instead, his face breaks into a crooked smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pulls Hank into a hug that at first nearly breaks his ribs. Hank doesn’t know how to handle this, his mind reeling. Connor usually doesn’t smell like anything, but right now Hank can sense detergent from the washing room, Sumo, coffee - <em> home.  </em></p><p>“You know, I’m very thankful for you, too,” Connor whispers before they let go. "I know you don't see it, but you make my life better."</p><p>"Pff," Hank answers and looks away,  because there's a pressure in his chest now. </p><p>"Another thing, Hank."</p><p>"Hm?" Hank catches his eyes again.</p><p>"The left nipple on one of the angels is missing. I think it's about three pieces."</p><p>***</p><p>“These damn mosquitos!” Hank swears and swats his arm for the hundredth time, regretting his own suggestion to take Sumo for an evening walk around the lake. Connor reminds him that he should have used the bug repellent before they left, and Hank gives him the finger and walks faster with Sumo’s leash in hand. Connor corrects his stride and keeps up with them, practically bouncing on his feet next to Hank. </p><p>The forest comes alive at this hour. During the day, it’s too hot for moving about, but once the temperature drops, birds start singing and Hank is able to breathe. He is glad that the old paths he used to walk as a child are still active and well-trodden. He enjoys taking Connor and Sumo on these walks, showing Connor his old blueberry brushwoods and the more secluded beach spots along the lake. If Connor thinks it’s tedious, he doesn’t let it show, and Hank tells himself he needs to trust that his friend will tell him.</p><p>This evening, they have taken a new path that deviates from the water, one Hank never bothered to walk before. The woods are thicker and once, Connor spots a family of deer further down between trees. They stop to watch until the animals skip further into the woods. </p><p>It is a beautiful place, full of life. Connor observes every detail, his LED spinning fast, and Hank wonders if he is cataloging every single flower and insect on the way. His eyes are full of wonder, in what would look stupid, except Connor is mesmerizing. Hank has to tear his eyes away from his awed expression. </p><p>The walk has become uncomfortable now. It’s still pretty hot and clammy outside, and it wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for the cloud of fucking bugs everywhere. Sumo spins around a few times, chasing his tail when too many of the mosquitos and flies land on him. Hank feels his mood dampened by the endless onslaught, and now he really wants to go home.</p><p>Connor is unbothered, of course, and he even chuckles when Hank hears the high-pitched buzz of a bloodsucker close to his ear and immediately begins to slap and scratch his hands around his ears, neck and shoulders, speeding up a few steps, as if he can outrun the damn things. </p><p>It’s getting darker and even though Hank has his glasses on, he’s having more and more difficulty seeing the dirt road clearly. He squints at the sign on the road fork and fails to read anything other than a blurry mess on the plate. Connor clears his throat and points to the right.</p><p>“This way will get us back in approximately eight point three minutes,” he chirps and fuck it, Hank can’t stay grumpy. He snorts and rolls his eyes, pulling at Sumo’s leash as the dog has found a particularly interesting bush on the side of the road. </p><p>“Y’know, you could have just said it’s the fastest way back,” he teases, and suddenly he’s filled with a warmth inside. “And there’s no rush. ‘S nice to be outside without burning the fuck up.” He nudges Connor’s side. Mosquitoes be damned, it’s a lovely evening.</p><p>“Actually--” Connor begins, and then Hank sees the oh so familiar flash in the sky. He has just time to react to what the hell that was before the snap and roars of thunder spreads closer and closer, finally thrumming in his ears. </p><p>“Well, fuck,” he mutters. “Better get home fast, Sumo hates thunder.”</p><p>They manage another minute before the next lightning strikes, the boom startling Sumo enough that he tries to run for a second and starts to whine. Hank tries to calm his poor puppy, but then Connor takes matters into his own hands and moves to scoop up Sumo in his arms. He begins to jog down the road and Hank lets out a startled laugh - It’s just impossible not to laugh at the sight of Connor half hidden by the man-sized fluffy dog, who looks too shocked to put up a fuzz. Hank jogs after them, still giggling, even as the sky opens and the three of them are drenched. Mud splashes against their bare legs. </p><p>When they’re finally out of the woods and have a clear sight of the house, they pick up their pace at the same time as another lightning strikes. It causes Hank to slip in the mud. He hears Connor call after him, and it’s as if time slows down while he falls. Some of his old cop training is ingrained in him and he remembers to press his chin into his chest, to avoid crashing with all of his weight onto his hand or elbow. It still hurts like a bitch when his side connects to the ground. He swears out loud, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything broken, and he waves for Connor to keep going and get Sumo inside, while he catches his breath.</p><p>Connor must be able to see that he’s fine, because he doesn’t object.</p><p>They meet up on the porch, safe from the downpour. Connor washes Sumo’s paws and tummy, dries him as much as he can with an old towel he has found in the cupboards. Hank sinks down by the wall, closing his eyes and listening to the loud patter and splashes of the rain. </p><p>“How’s your back?” Connor asks.</p><p>“Eh, all right. Probably got a nice ol’ bruise there tomorrow, though.” Hank doesn’t mind really, he has had worse. </p><p>They sit outside for a while until Connor insists that Hank will get ill if he doesn’t change into some dry clothes, putting on his stern face and Hank has no other choice but to comply. The rain doesn’t let up for another hour, and Hank takes full advantage of that. He does as he’s told, changing into sweats and an old shirt, and then opens the door to the veranda, inhaling as the sweet scents of summer rain and lilacs filter through the air. </p><p>Connor has thrown out Hank’s old furniture for the veranda. They were made of wood, so he takes a wild guess that the material was rotten through once Connor got hold of them.They have now been replaced by plastic and metallic chairs and table. Hank hasn't even noticed.</p><p>Connor prepares one of the lounging chairs with a cushion and puts on a kettle for Hank, who only objects for the sake of it. Settling against the backrest of the chair, he hisses as his side connects to one of the arms. It's definitely gonna leave an angry bruise tomorrow.</p><p>Connor keeps hovering, cleaning up dishes inside, lighting candles and feeding Sumo, acting like he's well on his way to become a fucking butler. Hank sighs and decides to grab him, when he sees the water still dripping from the ends of Connor's hair. His shirt is soaked at his shoulders, despite him putting it on after they went inside.</p><p>“Hey, come over here,” he waves at Connor when he comes back outside with the teapot, and instructs him to sit down in front of him on the lounger. Connor looks confused but he still complies.</p><p>Hank picks up one of the towels and begins to dry Connor’s hair, still wet and tangled from the rain. Connor makes a surprised sound, shoulders tense. Hank starts by rubbing his hair with the fabric, then begins to massage his scalp slowly, using his fingertips through the towel. Connor leans his head back and sighs contentedly. His hands flex against the edge of the seat, his eyelids flutter. </p><p>“Feels nice,” Connor mumbles, his voice deeper than usual. Hank shivers at the sound. He drags the towel one last time and lets it fall to the floor, still keeping up with the scalp massage. “Should’ve done this to you earlier,” Connor adds, though Hank can’t agree, because he would combust if Connor ever tried it with him.</p><p>“C’mon, let me do this for you. There’s no need to repay me,” Hank assures him. "Especially the way you take care of me all the goddamn time."</p><p>"Mm..  I like doing that, though," Connor mumbles.</p><p>Hank drags his fingers through his hair, experimenting with pulling very carefully on the longer strands and Connor gasps. “Too much?” he asks. Connor shakes his head minutely.</p><p>“No, do it again.” </p><p>Hank does. Connor lets out a small sound, a whine that sends sparks through Hank. </p><p>"Feel that good, huh?"</p><p>“Mhm,” Connor groans. </p><p>The tension is electric in this bubble that they have wrapped themselves in. Hank is acutely aware of every part of him that touches Connor, from the tips of his fingers to the insides of his thighs that brush against Connor’s knees, where he sits cross-legged in front of him.</p><p>“This is good information,” Hank murmurs as he lets his hands travel down to Connor’s neck. “I finally know how to immobilize you.” Connor snorts at that.</p><p>“Yeah, like you could ever -- nngh!” Connor’s words stop short as the palm of Hank’s hand sweep across some dent underneath his skin right below the base of his neck, and it retracts to show the white underneath. Hank withdraws his fingers in surprise.</p><p>“Shit, did I do something?” he asks worriedly, but Connor shakes his head sluggishly, humming.</p><p>“N-no, no. It’s fine, I just. Wasn’t expecting that.”</p><p>Hank slowly moves his hands back to explore what the hell just made Connor sound like <em> that. </em></p><p>Another lightning strikes, much closer now, and they both startle at the boom. Sumo bounds through the porch door and whines loudly, pressing against Hank’s leg. </p><p>Whatever the moment was just a second ago, it is ruined now. Connor immediately shifts his attention to poor Sumo, getting him treats and holding him close while softly explaining to the dog about the improbability that lightning would strike them. Hank allows himself to smile and observe as Connor continues to soothe Sumo, his mind still on the shiver that ran through him at the sound Connor made before.</p><p>***</p><p>While the rain keeps pouring, it only feels natural to get comfy outside, under the roof. Lighting the garden lamps, Hank leans back to finally get through his read.  He is glad that Connor joins him outside afterwards, quietly sifting through what looks like a paperback that has been left in one of the bookshelves.</p><p>They sit mostly quiet next to each other, though Hank can tell Connor is restless, flipping hurriedly between pages, once in a while glances over at Hank. He bounces his leg a couple of times, a rare thing to witness.</p><p>"You okay there?" Hank has to eventually ask, observing him over his reading glasses. Connor stops fidgeting, freezing like a deer in headlights. Whatever is bothering him, he doesn't tell. </p><p>"I'm just anxious to get to the end," Connor says. Something in the way his body tenses, tells Hank that there's something else, though he lets it go when it's clear that Connor doesn't want to elaborate.</p><p>Hank recognizes the book as the first of an old Sci-fi series he used to love when he was in his thirties. It’s a longer process to read them like a human would, rather than simply absorbing the entire text online, but Connor still finishes book one at an impressive speed. Hank looks up from his own book only to find Connor staring at the closed book in his lap, LED shifting between red and yellow.</p><p>“Cliff-hanger?” Hank asks, but he remembers vividly how this book ends - he made almost the exact face as Connor is doing right now. Connor stares at him.</p><p>“You really had to wait two years to find out what happens to them?” He asks, sounding like it would be a fate worse than death. To this, Hank smiles. </p><p>“It’s part of the joy in reading them, when you finally got your hands on the new ones, fresh out. Go ahead, we should have the rest of the series inside.” His cheeks warm when he hears himself use the word “we”, but Connor doesn’t mind. He springs out of his chair and bounds for the bookshelf again.</p><p>It’s a pleasant evening, and everything kind of feels like it’s back to normal. Connor keeps reading, Hank nods off in the chair and only gets up when Connor gently shakes his shoulder and helps him up and inside.</p><p>His side is starting to hurt now, and he takes another painkiller before hunkering off to bed. He flops onto the mattress with a pleased huff. It feels so damn good to lie down in bed, letting off the pressure from the bruises.</p><p>Connor stays awake for a while, promising to only read the next book before resting. He doesn’t join until Hank is asleep, but when he wakes the next morning, he hears the telltale whirring of Connor’s fans right next to him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You just know I imagined Rita with a heavy Southern twang</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Laugh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So in the middle of editing the "last" chapter, I found myself wanting to add more and more as I read on, and now I have to split it into two. Oops!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s early, too early, Hank thinks. He squints at the bedroom window, the pale light seeping through the curtains. His side is burning like a bitch as he raises his head, but it's nothing some ibuprofen won't fix later. That’s a reason as good as any to burrow his face back into the pillows and go back to sleep. </p><p>Except his forehead is rubbing against the back of Connor’s head. Soft hair is tickling his skin. The familiar sounds emanating from Connor - the fans, the small clicking noises that you only hear if you concentrate hard - fill the bedroom, once Hank is awake enough to register them. </p><p>Because now Hank is <em> wide awake </em>. Thankfully, he’s not a teenager anymore, and the lack of morning wood is what keeps him sane in this moment. Maybe a stubborn hard-on would make its appearance, if he was pressing his lower body against Connor when he woke up. But Hank can’t think about that possibility now, afraid to venture into nervous laughter if he does.</p><p>Right now, Hank is spooning Connor. In the bed he used to share with Cole’s mom. In the house that his dead son used to love playing inside of.</p><p>Connor shifts under the covers, his background processes probably alert now that Hank is awake. His arm is slung over Connor’s side, and Connor is…</p><p>Connor is hugging it. His cheek is pressed against Hank’s trapped hand, warm breath tickling the back of it.</p><p>This thing -  it is uncharted territory for both. Last night, something shifted between them. It could be their fight last week, or the panic that Hank felt when he thought would lose Connor, but it’s somehow like a puzzle piece is slowly fitting into place. He can’t put his finger on it, not sure that he wants to. There is no ambiguity in this sleeping position - no casual friends, maybe not even close friends, would be sleeping like this. Of course, Hank hasn’t exactly had a friend like Connor before, and this might as well just be another exploration, a way to to dip his toe into intimacy. </p><p>Connor is warm against Hank’s skin, his body firm, yet with a give to some parts of him. An elbow awkwardly nudged against Connor’s stomach tells Hank as much - it’s softer than he thought. For a person so tough, so hard and unyielding in many ways, Connor keeps surprising him by his naïvite, his vulnerable way of seeing their friendship. It’s a quality that only shrinks the longer you live, and it twists Hank’s insides to be aware of the privilege it puts him in, to be allowed this early stage of Connor’s life. Cozied up under the covers, Connor’s lines smooth out, his LED pulsing a calm blue. </p><p>Afraid to move at first, Hank stays in their position, taking in the proximity, hoping until it hurts that this isn’t a one time thing. Then his neck and other arm begin to ache, and he has to extract himself, causing Connor to grunt in displeasure.</p><p>Right then. Hank is not in the least sleepy anymore. Sitting against the headboard, he folds his hands on his lap, a very Connor thing to do, he realizes. In the living room, he hears Sumo shuffling about.</p><p>He wags his tail furiously when Hank emerges from the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him. Hank takes a moment to let Sumo sniff and press against him, then he sits down on the couch and takes his time to scratch his belly, pet his back, brush his fur. </p><p>After Sumo has eaten, Hank decides that it’s time for a morning walk. He makes sure to leave a note for Connor, the whole embarrassing ordeal from last week but a silly memory by now. He smiles as he writes, then decides to doodle a small cartoon dog in the corner. It doesn’t really look like Sumo, but it’ll do. </p><p>***</p><p>Connor didn’t mean to stay in stasis for so long, but the other day was a lot to take in. As soon as he wakes up, he is made aware of three important things that his processors have picked up. Hank isn’t in bed anymore. Hank rolled over in his sleep and spooned him last night. The most important discovery he makes however, is that Hank didn’t move away when he woke up. </p><p>Connor tries to construct it in his mind, the way they snuggled close, and his system threatens to overheat at the thought. Last night, when Hank gave him a neck massage, Connor became painfully aware of the parts of himself that he has been ignoring for too  long. It’s unlikely that Hank is aware of what deviated androids now call their own “erogenous zones”, but after last night, he must have put two and two together. Connor hides his face into his pillow, as if that will burn his embarrassment away, only to find the light morning breeze tickle at the nape of his neck. He knows how sensitive his neck port is, but there hasn’t been time for him to explore it any further since he came to Greenpine with the first cans of paint, and the few times that he has felt that jolt inside of him since then, he has ignored. There hasn’t been time. </p><p>Though, there were embarrassingly many times living with Hank when Connor would desperately wait to be alone in the house, only to give in to it. It certainly didn't help the one time he heard Hank taking care of himself in the shower, imagining what he was thinking about, what he looked like, how he likes to be touched...</p><p>Now, Connor gingerly rises from bed and ventures out into the living room and kitchen. After all, this house is impossible for private endeavours, unless you'd want to be caught.</p><p>From one scan of the room, it’s obvious that Hank is outside with Sumo, and the note on the kitchen table confirms his suspicions. The silly image of Sumo on the paper makes Connor smile involuntarily, a facial spasm that he still isn’t quite used to. It’s easy to remember to smile in order to show humans that he is content or happy, but it’s not usually a spontaneous reaction. </p><p>Connor folds the paper and sticks it into his jacket on the hanger in the hallway. </p><p>He sends a text to Hank, as he puts the dishes back in the cupboards.</p><p>
  <em> Good morning. Having a nice walk? </em>
</p><p>He bites his lip, then adds,</p><p>
  <em> I liked your drawing. </em>
</p><p>Assuming Hank hasn’t actually brought his phone with him, he’s surprised when he receives an answer in only a few minutes, text displayed in his HUD. </p><p><em> So u dont miss Sumo when hes gone </em> </p><p>Connor laughs at that.</p><p>
  <em> Then you should have added yourself as well. Do you have an ETA? </em>
</p><p>The next text is received much quicker this time.</p><p>
  <em> Noted. Maybe 30 min, walking in town </em>
</p><p>30 minutes. That’s enough time for Connor to… take care of things, before Hank and Sumo are back. He thinks he has to, if he's going to act normal for the rest of the day. The press of Hank's body against him is etched into his chassis' memory, the unmistakable hardness that was nudging at his ass before Hank woke up a vivid mental image, so to speak. </p><p>Connor walks back to the bedroom, because it feels strange to sit on the sofa doing what he’s about to do. Even though there is only foliage outside the bedroom, with no chance of anyone peeking in, Connor closes the window and pulls the curtains shut. </p><p>How does one begin after such a long time? There’s a current running through him, like he wants to scratch at his synthskin, to rip off his clothes, so he starts by at least pulling off his pajama pants and underwear. His upgraded bio component, a rather unassuming but of average built penis, is of course already on its way to full hardness. He doesn’t really pay it any mind, finding it difficult to get off on touching himself there. After all, he knows where he wants to be touched at this moment.</p><p>Sitting back against the headboard, he lets his synthskin peel back at his neck and hands. Putting pressure on the top of the port, he sighs as the slot slides open, feeling overly sensitive already. He hasn’t done this in a long while, certainly not alone in the house, and while it does feel good to gently let his fingers travel over the edges of the neck port, it doesn’t do that much for him yet. </p><p>He lets his mind wander, to figure out what will “get him there” as it were - he searches for different categories of pornography, briefly sticking around for something with “bears” in the title, which is exciting but not really what he’s looking for. He already knows he’s got a type, but it’s not a type he really wants to think about right now. It’s a person.</p><p>Already feeling a little guilty, he allows himself again to think back on last night, of Hank’s hands skimming over him, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. Connor wanted to turn around and crash their mouths together then, but the sensations where too intense for him to put any energy into moving. He simply sat there, concentrating only on keeping his noises down to a minimum. </p><p>Hank must have noticed.</p><p>Connor’s index finger brushes against the thinner wires, right at the first layer. A pleasant buzz hums down his spine. </p><p>What would have happened if they weren’t interrupted last night? Connor imagines Hank pressing his hand against his neck until it opens, and the very thought releases a low moan from him, the idea of Hank starting to stroke at his most sensitive spots, inside him.</p><p>If he would have dared, he would have turned around in his seat, gracefully sliding into his lap. Hank would be surprised, and in real life, Connor assumes he would shove him off, but in this fantasy he only tightens the hold on his neck and presses the both of them closer. Hank probably wants a more human way to connect, and Connor would happily oblige when Hank reaches between them to palm him through his pants. What would Hank sound like? Is he quiet, focused? Does he groan, or whimper?</p><p>In the fantasy, Hank growls when Connor pushes his own hand to his large tent in his sweats, and Connor presses further into himself at the same time as Hank uses his much thicker fingers to stroke his wires.</p><p>Now Connor’s thirium pump is on overload, his fingers twisting and stroking, pulling and pressing, and he feels the way that familiar feeling is building up inside of him. Hank licks and nips at his collarbone, and Connor lets out a filthy, guttural sound as he licks his own fingers with his other hand, lets it scratch against his shoulder. Anything to make the fantasy more real. His skin is too hot, he is shivering with the stimulation. Changing positions onto all fours, Connor focuses on the thought of Hank rubbing against his stomach, pushing harder at his wires, and in the fantasy, Hank traps Connor’s wrists above his head while he does it, even though one small background program tells Connor that that is impossible. Connor shuts the thought out and comes as he imagines being completely under Hank’s control.</p><p>The heat warnings that have been glaring in the corner of his vision start blinking as he reaches climax, and suddenly his system shuts down.</p><p>Connor wakes up from restart when he receives another text from Hank.</p><p>
  <em> Back in five minutes-ish </em>
</p><p>He scrambles to his feet, a difficult task when his body isn’t entirely online, and his legs give way until he lands, face first, on the floor. He swears and picks himself up, staring at the bed to see if there’s any incriminating evidence of what he has been doing. It looks the same as before, only a few thirium stains on the mattress, that should be invisible to Hank once it’s time for bed. Even so, he makes the bed as quickly as he can and pulls on his pants again. His sad erection is left without any attention, but it should go down soon, anyway. </p><p>***</p><p>There is something to be said about walking around small communities, something that can’t be captured in the busy streets of Detroit. Hank observes the way people walk to work, how they stop to talk to shop owners and neighbors on the streets. It’s familiar in a way that would have Hank crawling out of his skin just a year ago, and which he finds charming this morning.</p><p>Sumo is quite the charmer on this walk, and he preens at every single person who comes over to ask if they can pet him. Hank assures them they can, mostly because he can see the way Sumo’s puppy face lights up when someone approaches. When they pass a playground, Hank is awkwardly stuck there while six small children take turns to pet Sumo, their parents apologizing and otherwise trying to start conversation with him. They immediately spot that he’s new there, commenting on the fact that they haven’t seen a St Bernard around in years. When Hank explains that he owns the old country home on Greenpine, they all perk up. Apparently the androids have been seen around town lately, some of them offering services for people’s homes, the way they did with Hank’s. The dads call their son over and head back home, after they have asked Hank for a business card to the androids, to which Hank has no answer. He is a little stunned to find the androids going all the way out here only for sporadic work.</p><p>In a way, it’s interesting to find that places like these don’t really get affected by the fast moving development in technology - so far Hank has only seen androids or autonomous cars at Greenpine road. It’s nice, though it makes him wonder how people might react when they see Connor for the first time - Rita was nice enough, and the parents seem interested in the labor, but the next person they meet might as well swing a fist at him once they see his LED. </p><p>Hank thinks about this as he walks back down the street, lost in thought, before he sees the display window in one of the stores. </p><p>
  <em> Android maintenance and groceries </em>
</p><p>Doing a double-take, because he must have read that wrong, he reads the sign again. </p><p>Curiosity getting the best of him, he leaves Sumo tied up to the bicycle stand outside and enters the store. </p><p>Most stuff inside the shop is basic groceries, but there’s a corner packed with things that Hank has only glimpsed in Connor’s part of the closet. There’s the usual packs of thirium, still ridiculously priced for something so essential to androids, but he also finds some tools for repairing damaged software, resembling the instruments at the dentist. There are teas that have thirium in them, also expensive but an interesting concept. Hank gets stuck at the refill of thirium-based lube for “humanoid sexual add-ons”, a sentence that loops uncomfortably in his mind, even as he glances further down the shelf towards what looks like a maintenance kit for cleaning up the plastic underneath the synthetic skin. He peers closer, picks it up and reads the description.</p><p>It contains some sort of oil meant to smooth out eventual cracks in the plastic, a fiber cloth to clean the spaces between joints, some sort of brush, the use which Hank does not fully understand. Standing there for a while, until the cashier asks him if he needs help, Hank decides to buy the maintenance kit and a bag of thirium, in case Connor is running low. One of the shelves in the back have some stuffed animals on them, and Hank doesn’t find any dog ones, but he settles on a fox, before he walks to the check-out. </p><p>When he and Sumo venture down the old gravelly road, Hank gives Connor a heads-up as Sumo pulls on the leash, recognizing the place and probably dying for some well-deserved nap time. </p><p>He hears Connor puttering about in the kitchen when he opens the door, and the smell of coffee has him almost in tears. Why he has become so damn emotional about everything is not for him to know, it seems, but he wishes it would stop - he is not about to unexpectedly start crying in front of Connor for making him breakfast. It has been several days since Connor actually have kept up with their “normal” routine, a habit that Hank has been adamant on breaking by getting up earlier than usual to make his own damn coffee. Now here Connor is, hair still ruffled from sleep, and his adorable pajama pants - blue with small poodles on them - riding low on his slim hips. </p><p>Hank clears his throat and unleashes Sumo, who bounds over to Connor for some ear scratches.</p><p>“Nice walk?” Connor asks, his smile warm and infectious. </p><p>“Yeah,” Hank says, hovering at Connor's side. “Actually I, um.  Found some stuff in one of the shops. Nothing special, really, I just thought , if you needed…” He trails off, tries to make excuses as he hands Connor the bag and sees him pick the kit up. Needing something to do with his hands, he scratches the back of his neck, then begins to point at the package. “I don’t know if you already have these things, but in that case--”</p><p>“You bought this for me?” Connor asks, looking up from where he has been staring at him. </p><p>“Uh, yeah. Who else would I give that to?”</p><p>“I- really?” Connor starts, his voice wavering. He looks down again, checking out the bag of thirium before his eyes brighten and he fishes out the fox. Hank feels his own grin widen at Connor’s pleased face. “This is a very handsome fox, Hank.”</p><p>“Good, I-uh, they didn’t have any dogs,” Hank says by way of explanation. “Just made me think of you, is all.”</p><p>“Thank you, Hank,” Connor says, sounding awfully genuine as he squeezes the fox in his hands and sits down by the table, opening the toolkit carefully. Hank stands there, momentarily befuddled, before he gets his shit together and searches for a coffee mug in the cupboards. His side is hurting a little, but it's not so bad and he eventually stops thinking about it.</p><p>They sit there quietly, Hank reading the news on his tablet and enjoying the peaceful buzz of bees and flies outside on the veranda. Connor tries the brush on one of his hands, claiming that he somehow got mud so far under his nails that it broke through his synthetic skin. They chat a little, then go back to their own stuff. It feels more and more like one of those mornings in the beginning, back when they had only lived with each other for a couple of weeks, when everything had changed and they both had found some sort of freedom. </p><p>It feels nice, Hank concludes.</p><p>***</p><p>Later on, Hank and Connor leave Sumo home to go swimming, wearing their swimwear underneath their clothes and towels to dry off with afterwards. The heat is less palpable after the thunderstorm but the promise of the cool water becomes an appealing thought, once both of them have worked up a sweat on the way to the bathing site, a large patch of grass stretching to the edge of the beach, where soft sand reaches the water. </p><p>On one side of the beach, there is a pier floating. It’s currently full of children diving into the water, next to the “no diving”-sign, along with a group of teens doing the cannonball, splashing other bathers. Connor takes off the shirt he has borrowed from Hank, a dark green one with yellow stripes and a pattern of bananas, as Hank debates whether he should keep his own T shirt on or not. Of course, his keenly observant friend-or-maybe-something-else immediately picks up on his internal struggle, and stretches out his arm, as if for Hank to hang his shirt over it. </p><p>“Come on, no one cares and you look way less shitty than you think,” he quips and Hank huffs a laugh, despite himself. “I’m kidding,” Connor says, even though Hank knows he’s not being serious. “You really shouldn’t listen to what your lack of confidence tells you. I’d say you have a very aesthetically pleasing body shape. Objectively speaking.” To this, Hank actually laughs out loud, either out of embarrassment or disbelief that Connor would find his gut and hairy chest “pleasing”, but it somehow puts his unease to rest as he pulls the shirt off. The self consciousness returns when he finds Connor staring at his chest, or rather at the tattoo on his chest. He fights the instinct to cover himself up.</p><p>“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Connor says, sounding a bit awestruck as he lifts his hand, only to drop it back down. Hank looks down at his own chest, at the faded tattoo. Interested in Connor’s reaction to some old ink, he pulls up one leg of his swimming trunks, revealing the other tattoo on his thigh. Connor bends down to get a look at, and now Hank regrets his decision. </p><p>“Could you get one, y’know, if you wanted?” Hank asks as they venture down to the water. Connor shrugs.</p><p>“Sure, if there’s anyone willing to give androids tattoos. I think you’d have to earn a degree in computer science first, though.”</p><p>Hank snorts at that, to cover up that his mind is occupied by the image of Connor shirtless in a sleeve.</p><p>When they reach the water, they are greeted by a sight so surprising that Hank has half a mind to rub his eyes. There are about a dozen androids flocking the beach, and he instantly recognizes at least three of them from that day when he found out about the renovation. They are playing volleyball, diving perfectly into the water from the pier, sitting on blankets in the sand and talking. Hank stares, incredulous, at Connor, who seems just as puzzled by this. </p><p>It’s one thing to find out that androids travel here for work, and another completely to see them out on the beach. </p><p>“Connor!” </p><p>A blond, white android jogs up to them, waving enthusiastically. Connor looks taken aback but collects himself as the man grabs his hand and then turns to Hank to shake his. </p><p>“Um, Hank, this is Christopher,” Connor says, gesturing between them. Hank remembers his face. “What are you guys doing here?” </p><p>“We have been doing some work here and there, you know. But we’ve found that there are plenty of abandoned houses and sheds that no one has claimed in years?” Christopher says. “Some of us got inspired by your work on the lieutenant’s house and we figured that we could just as well renovate those houses. I mean, as long as we find budgeted materials and such, it’s pretty cheap. Not that we need much to sustain ourselves, like humans do.”</p><p>“That… doesn’t sound entirely legal,” Connor notes with a nervous glance at Hank.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry!” Christopher says with a quick wink at Hank. “We’ve talked to the local authority, and they have granted us rights to renovate and live in the houses as long as they also function as communal spaces. Like Sandra over there,” Christopher points at an android currently teaching a boy how to swim. “She lives in one of the old barracks over there, and the first floor doubles as recreation rooms and dining halls for the summer staff over here.”</p><p>Hank doesn’t think it sounds that great, to have a small place to live in with minimal income, and on top of that have to share it with strangers, but the gleam in Christopher’s eyes says the android thinks otherwise.</p><p>“So, you and your friends live around here?” Connor asks.</p><p>“Yeah, well some of us have taken up residency a few miles from here. We’re putting up a gardening business, you know, once the legal stuff goes through. Now, we’re lending the basement to drama schools and such. It’s nice, they let us try out one lesson yesterday.” </p><p>“Why here, though?” Hank cuts in, trying not to sound rude, but he can’t put the pieces together. “I mean, there are no maint… Android hospitals around here, and you guys are pretty much alone, right?” </p><p>Christopher tilts his head in contemplation while Hank talks. He is quiet for a moment, and Hank is worried he might have stepped in it. Then he answers,</p><p>“You know, as long as we stock up on thirium and such, it is a nice change not to be stuck in the city all the time. Especially in a city where so many bad things happened to us. And we’ve found a certain fondness for the nature and the people out here. Most people are confused, sure, but they don’t seem to mind us. I think that’s pretty rare to accept us after such a short time.” Christopher smiles and winks at Hank. He looks so damn happy that Hank can’t bear to push it any further. Connor frowns. “Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time chatting. You gonna get in the water?”</p><p>“Talk to you later. Ready, Hank?” Connor smiles and shakes his hand. They turn to walk down the pier, and something completely childish takes over Hank’s mind as they wave Christopher goodbye. </p><p>“Right, last one in is a chicken!” he suddenly calls and playfully shoves Connor’s shoulder as he jogs up on the pier, laughing when he turns back to find Connor staring in indignation at him. </p><p>“What-,” Connor sputters, “I. This… You didn’t tell me it’s a contest!” And with that, he sprints towards him, and Hank realizes he has to slow down to avoid bumping into the other people on deck. Right when Connor is at his heel, Hank goes for it and jumps into the cool water. Bubbles tickle as they lick at his face, the contrast in temperature jolting his body awake. As he breaches the surface, he is met by Connor’s pout at the edge. </p><p>“That’s cheating,” Connor mutters, and Hank splashes in his direction. </p><p>“It’s tactics,” Hank teases, echoing an earlier conversation. “Least you know what to expect next time. C’mon, get in, lemme see a cannonball!”</p><p>Connor  squares his jaw, glaring at Hank, who can’t stop grinning. Then, he backs up a few steps and uses the edge as a springboard, throwing himself in the air and forming into a perfect cannonball. Hank has to shield his eyes. When Connor’s head comes up out of the water, he shrieks.</p><p>“<em> Shit, it’s so fucking cold!”  </em></p><p>His voice is so loud that even the humans at the beach turn their heads, and a few of the parents on the pier scowl at him for swearing in front of their kids. Hank however, is almost pissing himself, finding it difficult to breathe and paddle his feet at the same time as his abs spasm from laughter. He keeps laughing as Connor hurriedly swims back to the ladder and hangs on, his hair plastered to his forehead.</p><p>“Didn’t know you were such a wuss, Con!” Hank giggles, and a wave crashes into his face, causing him to spit and sputter. Connor is shivering, which takes Hank by surprise, and before he gets out of the water, he kicks up a seaweed in Hank’s direction.</p><p>“I didn’t have time to set my sensitivity lower,” he says in a petulant voice, and it is so damn cute that Hank giggles again.</p><p>“I’m sorry, hey wait up!” Hank calls after Connor, unable to hide his glee even as he swims over to the ladder and grabs his hand. </p><p>Connor isn’t really mad, Hank thinks, but he seems very pleased with the way Hank apologizes all the way back to where they left their towels, and takes his time to accept the apology.</p><p>***</p><p>As they leave the beach, Connor stops to exchange a few words with Christopher, and Hank feels that ugly, stinging stab in his gut at the sight of them together.</p><p>“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Connor says as they shake hands.</p><p>“All right, all right. Take care, both of you!” Christopher calls as they leave.</p><p>They’re quiet on the way back, enjoying the rays of sunlight warming them up after the swim. Sumo boofs happily when they get home and Hank opens the door to the porch. He licks his hands and sniffs their towels when Hank hangs them over the railing outside.</p><p>Connor stands in the doorway, his LED spinning yellow. It has been looking like that for the entire walk and Hank wants to say something, but Connor seems, for a lack of a better word, lost in thought, so he lets him be. </p><p>“They’re creating their own community out here,” Connor murmurs an hour later, and Hank startles out of his read, the book flopping down on the floor. Sumo wakes up from his nap, letting out a startled grunt. Connor’s LED is a calm blue. Hank turns to him on the other side of the couch. “They are leaving the cities and forming their own society out here.”</p><p>“Funny the locals aren’t objecting to it,” Hank mutters and takes a swig of his beer. Connor usually looks utterly displeased whenever he drinks, but now he seems too distracted. “Though some places just have that kind of acceptance about them. It might be a better place to start than in the big city. Who knows?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Connor says a after a quiet moment.</p><p>Hank thinks about this life, about how calm and quiet things are out here. It reminds him of his childhood, of lazy summer days and lit up winter nights.  He reminds himself that he has to go back to the office in a few days and for the first time in a very long while, he feels a pressure of panic at the thought of going back. </p><p>Back to a place that used to fill him with a sense of purpose, but nowadays makes him more and more disillusioned about the work they’re doing. It’s been a while since he has felt satisfied about his job. The last time was the during those days in November, when Connor had infiltrated Cyberlife Tower and Markus had released the androids through protests. That wasn’t even Hank’s doing, nor the DPD’s, but he felt proud because of Connor, of how much he developed his own conscience and frame of mind. It nearly neutralized the absolute guilt he carried for being a part of the oppressing forces for so long.</p><p>He doesn’t want to feel like he’s on the wrong side of things again.</p><p>“Hank?” Connor asks and Hank looks up from the bottle that he’s twisting in his grip.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Connor asks, face searching.</p><p>“Well. Been thinking of turning my badge in.” Connor doesn’t look surprised by his admission, so he continues. “It’s been on my mind a long time, honestly.”</p><p>“You could do a lot more at Jericho, I think,” says Connor. Something about that hurts in Hank’s chest, uncomfortably moved by Connor’s words. “I think Markus would like to have you there, not just me. Your knowledge is invaluable to us. And I still miss working as your partner, you know. I know I’d enjoy the peace talks far more if you were there.”</p><p>Connor smiles. It’s such a goofy smile, one side of his face smirking just a little more than the other. It’s charming, Hank admits to himself, though he doesn’t let his mind wander further than that. Instead of searching for something else in Connor’s eyes, he huffs a laugh and leans over to mess with his perfectly styled hair. </p><p>“Yeah yeah, you’re a real charmer, Con.” </p><p>Connor lets out a sound of protest and tries to swat Hank’s hand away, but then he just laughs. Hank wonders if he can rub the scalp until the hairs get static. Then Connor interrupts by grabbing Hank’s hair firmly. It’s meant to be playful, at least Hank thinks so, but it does something else entirely to his insides. He hears himself groan and it might have passed as a reaction to the pain, but since it’s Connor that is slowly pulling his hair back, he is definitely catching Hank’s speeding pulse, the heat in his face. Hank hates the way the grip on his hair sends shivers all over his head, down his spine. Connor is staring at him, and while his grin is still there, there is a shift in the energy. Something heavy lies over them and Hank needs to diffuse the situation right now. </p><p>“All right, all right asshole, you win,” he chuckles and drops his hand. He turns away from Connor to collect himself, not wanting to be disappointed in case Connor doesn’t seem as affected by it as him. “So assistant to the people at Jericho, huh? I could work with that,” he says, standing up to get a glass of water, anything to get some safe distance. It tastes funky, but he guesses it’s part of the charm living out here. </p><p>“More like an advisor, or even project leader, if you’re good. You should get at least <em> some </em> credit for your years as a lieutenant, after all,” Connor says, still grinning and damn, Hank does love that smile.</p><p>***</p><p>The rest of the day is spent in the garden. Hank digs out his old hammock, an old model with faded blue-white stripes, the originally white ropes turned gray. With Connor’s help, he ties it up between two birches and tests it out. </p><p>“Ahh,” he sighs and lets the hammock swing a little from side to side. “Perfect. Absolutely, fucking perfect.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the hell out of the slightly dizzying feeling of moving in the air. Then he gets out and looks over at Connor, who stands stock still. “Come on, try it.”</p><p>“You sure?” Connor says, biting his lip as he carefully sinks down. He wobbles just a little, and Hank helps him get his legs in there without falling off. Hank gently pushes at the hammock until it has a pleasant swing to it, like a pendulum slowly rocking back and forth. Connor looks stiff, even lying down.</p><p>“Close your eyes,” Hank tells him with a sigh and Connor complies. He still looks uncomfortable, but Hank can tell he’s trying. After a minute or so, they give up.</p><p>“Maybe it isn’t for me,” Connor says, apologetic. “It’s better that way though, since you love it so much.”</p><p>“Hm, fair,” Hank hums and goes inside to roll out the lounger for Connor.</p><p>The afternoon is spent playing fetch with Sumo, combined with lazy reading beneath the shade of the trees. A couple of kids come over to hang at the fence, asking if they can take Sumo for a walk. Connor hesitates and looks at Hank, who gets out of the hammock and lets them in, much to their delight and Connor’s confusion. Hank shows the kids how to make Sumo do tricks, fetching a couple of treats for each kid, and they stare in awe as he gets Sumo to roll around.  </p><p>They play with Sumo for a while, squealing in delight when he chases the sticks and tackles them to the ground. Hank feels Connor’s eyes on him, as if gauging his reaction to having kids running around on the lot. In response, he returns the stare and winks with a small smile. Kids in general never really makes his heart hurt anymore. Only the thought of one does, and even that wound is slowly, carefully sealing shut. Of course, if he stays too long in that part of his mind, imagining what Cole should have looked like at ten years old, he will either start crying or hit the bottle, so he focuses instead on the way these kids play with Sumo.</p><p>Connor gets them some lemonade, like a good host, and while the kids thank him and exclaim that he’s a “really cool robot-man”, Hank enjoys the look of confusion on Connor’s face.</p><p>An hour passes, and soon they are accompanied by the parents to the kids. They huff and explode with apologies for disturbing Hank and Connor, then they turn to their kids and scold them for running off without telling them. </p><p>“We were just playing,” one of the boys whine.</p><p>“Don’t you start, Simon,” one parent chides. “Now, apologize and thank the nice man for letting you play with the dog.” Her stern voice provokes an echo of muttered thanks and apologies from the children, and Hank chuckles, shaking his head.</p><p>“It really is no trouble at all,” he assures them. “Sumo loves kids, and Connor and I were only glad to not have to run after him all afternoon.” He nods towards Connor, his LED yellow.</p><p>When the families leave, Connor turns to Hank.</p><p>“You’re really good with kids,” he says, matter-of-factly. Hank shrugs.</p><p>“You know, I used to be a father. Go figure.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Come on, the water is real nice,” Connor calls, sounding awfully cocky now that he has brought down his sensitivity switch or whatever it is. Now that there’s no one else but them out here, Hank becomes self conscious in a whole other way than he did this morning. He hovers at the edge of the beach, arms crossed to hide the barrel of his stomach, the graying hairs on his chest.</p><p>He wants to go in the water, to cool himself off after another day of oppressive heat. It’s difficult to feel confident when the man in the water currently splashing with his feet in his direction looks so perfect. Connor doesn’t tan, doesn’t get sunburn. If he did, Hank imagines his freckles would stand out even more. He lets himself imagine the pale lines where Connor’s shirt starts. The idea is ridiculous but well, it’s there now and Hank can’t stop thinking about it.</p><p>“Am I gonna have to carry you into the water like Sumo?” Connor asks as he walks out of the water, droplets glistening across his stomach the closer he gets. Electric currents hit Hank in his abdomen and his breath hitches at the thought of Connor picking him up like he weighs nothing, feeling his strong arms around him.</p><p>“You wouldn’t dare,” Hank says, glad his voice is steady. Connor’s eyes flicker down his torso once, and then the fucker winks at him, way too smug about his reaction. Hank fights down the instinct to back away from him as Connor reaches his hand to grasp Hank’s.</p><p>“If you’re worried about freezing, I just increased my body heat, it should keep you warm,” Connor adds as he drags Hank to the water and Hank shivers. Connor’s teasing is charming and he tries not to enjoy it too much.</p><p>For quite a while now, Hank has been trying to make sense of the way they have been dancing around each other, like they aren’t just friends, like they’re flirting, <em> courting </em> each other. In some moments, like last evening when Connor let him touch his hair and neck, Hank almost thinks that Connor might want the same thing as he does. Then the moments pass and he understands what this is. </p><p>Connor hasn’t been alive for long at all. He is new at the whole circus show that is friendship and romance, and if he needs to try the waters with Hank, well. Hank can’t really complain, can he? Even if he dreads the day when Connor finds what he really wants and decides to leave.</p><p>This is just the air of the summer nights, after all. Everything means something, all activities become romantic on nights like these. Tomorrow, Connor will be his usual self and Hank will feel like an idiot for reading more into it.</p><p>The water reaches Hank’s navel now. The sun is dipping down the trees, the last rays lighting up Connor’s face in a beautiful orange glow. It’s quite a sight, with the blue of his LED illuminating one side of his face as well. Hank  swallows down the knot in his throat as he tears his eyes away from him. To cool himself down, he finally lets himself fall into the water.</p><p>It’s cold, and he has to breathe harshly through his mouth as his body acclimatizes to the shock. Before he can chicken out, he dips his head under the surface and at least enjoys the cold on his flushing face.</p><p>When he stands up, shaking his head like Sumo after a bath, he can hear Connor’s laugh beside him. Cheeky fucker is definitely pleased that he wasn’t last in the water this time. In retaliation, Hank scoops up water with his cupped hands and viciously splashes all over Connor. His hair sticks to his head as he sputters, and it’s Hank’s time to laugh.</p><p>They keep throwing water at each other, trying to get the other to fall back into the water, a difficult task when you are competing against a machine, but Hank manages a few trip ups in the end. At one point, he places himself behind Connor and wraps his arms around his midsection to throw him into the water, but Connor twists himself in his grip somehow they both end up, head under the surface.</p><p>They only break it off when they look around and Hank notices that it’s getting dark, the lamps turning on at the beach and the water darkening around them, only moonlight reflected on the surface. He notices these things before Connor’s hands on his shoulders make themselves known, his own at his sides. They were right in the middle of wrestling each other back down into the water, something that seemed all in good fun a minute ago, and which now seems like a stupid fucking idea on his own part.</p><p>If Hank wants to spare himself the heart ache, he should really start to back away now.</p><p>“We should head back home,” Connor murmurs. They lock eyes, and Connor looks like he wants to ask Hank something. Hank’s heart pounds so loudly that Connor can’t possibly have missed it. He’s right, of course, because Connor’s eyes travel down to his chest, lowering one hand to rest against Hank’s heart. Hank doubts that Connor needs physical contact in order to determine his pulse, but he doesn’t feel like pointing that out. Gooseflesh prickle all over his arms, and a violent shiver runs through him as Connor holds him steady. It’s like Hank is in a trance, unable to shy away from Connor, despite his best efforts. Now that the sun is down, it’s near impossible to read his face, but Hank does see that he is leaning closer. Sucking in a breath, Hank stands stock still, waiting, dreading, <em> hoping </em>, that Connor will close those last few inches of space between them.</p><p>“You’re shaking,” Connor murmurs. His breath rolls against Hank’s lips. When the tip of Connor’s nose touches Hank’s, it becomes high time for Hank to pull the plug. He slowly reaches for Connor’s sides, holding him in place to indicate that this is not the time. He doesn’t have the strength to push him away though, and now they’re stuck in this limbo. Connor makes one of those noises, a mix of a low growl and static, which shouldn’t be so fucking hot. </p><p>“Connor…” is all Hank manages, before Connor begins to pull away and he regains control of his own legs. Connor lets his hands drop back to his sides, and nods his head in the direction of the beach.</p><p>"All right, let's get you home before you catch a cold." Then he turns to Hank to give him a quick peck on his cheek. </p><p>And now Hank is left standing in the water like a horny goddamn idiot, while a very attractive android walks away with what Hank can only assume is a shit-eating grin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Behold ye, there will be a bit of smut in this chapter, amongst other things. Get ready for the last chapter (for real, this time!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A pleasant feeling thrums through every metaphorical pore of Connor’s being as they venture back home. If he concentrates, he can reconstruct Hank’s soft cheek against his lips, his beard tickling the sensors on his skin. Why he had the impulse, he’s not sure, but it fills him with hope - for something. Because no matter what Connor does, Hank doesn’t seem to understand.</p><p>Connor asks Markus for advice about their relationship, and Hank immediately assumes that Markus is interested in Connor. He makes coffee every morning for Hank, and the man still thinks it’s coming from a sense of obligation. He clears out the entire house to renovate it, and later pulls out all the stops to make this vacation a memorable one, which in Hank’s mind translates to “wanting to play psychologist.” It’s equal parts frustrating and endearing, the way Hank doesn’t think Connor could ever have these feelings.</p><p>Maybe that’s why Connor did it - to make it abundantly clear to Hank what all of this is about. There’s no way Hank could be in such denial, that he would twist this into something else. Judging by the temperature rising steadily on Hank’s face, tinting his cheeks red, Hank must get it now.</p><p>After these past days, Connor has found that he loves making Hank blush, and maybe after tonight, he thinks gleefully, he’ll get him to blush in other places. </p><p>The very thought almost makes him laugh, and he stifles it with a cough when Hank glances at him from the corner of his eye, frowning. </p><p>It’s interesting to find the tells that Hank is embarrassed or shy, the way he clears his throat, reaches his hand to the back of his neck, and above all, the small talk that takes over him. Of course, if Connor were to mention the very quick, very light kiss, he’s sure he would just interrupt him and start a discussion about the weather. He wants to offer his pullover to a shivering Hank on the way back but, afraid to push him too far, he settles for walking back home at a brisk pace, hoping the movement will keep him warm.</p><p>They get home, and Sumo immediately demands to be taken outside, which Connor takes care of. Once the towels are thrown over the railings again, Hank makes a beeline for the bathroom, and within a minute Connor hears Hank filling up the bathtub.</p><p>So much about their friendship, or whatever they are now, has changed since they arrived here. They have been tiptoeing around each other for over a month, yet in this house they have spoken and fought and laughed and…</p><p>Maybe they will do more, if Connor plays his cards right. Because there is no doubt in his mind that this is what he wants - Hank. </p><p>Always Hank. </p><p>At first it might have been some sort of safety, to have his first human friend be the most important person in his life. For a while Connor suspected this crush would pass once he’d realize that Hank wasn’t interested. But now…</p><p>Now Connor isn’t sure it is that easy. Because he has seen the way Hank looks at him sometimes. Not all the time, of course not. Not in an obvious way, one that would destroy all of Connor’s doubts. He has felt Hank’s heart rate increase, his pupils dilate when he comes closer. Hank must, at least, find Connor attractive. Then again, one can find someone else attractive, and still not want anything from them. Hank is also fond of Connor as a friend. </p><p>He has been supportive of his development ever since they first met that week in November, and despite his deflections and grumpy demeanor, Connor knows he cares, cares so much. Hank is a good person who has given up on himself, but always makes an effort for Connor. He cares enough to ask Connor to watch a movie, or go for a walk with him whenever his first instinct is to grab the bottle. He always keeps a full stock of thirium in the fridge, even though they take up so much space, even though they’re really expensive and Connor probably could bear the humiliation to ask Markus for help anyway. Hank gets it, and he makes sure Connor never has to ask. He jokes about the differences between them as two races, yet he always backs down if he pushes it too far, and he asks about things, not to be nosey and intrusive, but because he <em> cares </em>.That’s not enough on its own to assume that Hank feels the same way about him, but it’s a start.</p><p>Hank cares, and Connor loves him.</p><p>***</p><p>His teeth clattering together, Hank shakes as he steps out of his clothes and shutter when he dips his fingers into the water. Fuck being cold like this. He figures he should brush his teeth before he gets in, in case he just wants to walk straight to bed afterwards, and as he picks up his toothbrush he hears Connor knocking on the bathroom door. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Could we talk? I feel like we should talk about this,” Connor says, voice muddled by the door. Hank, who is looking forward to a long, hot bath, is not ready for this conversation. He has hoped that they could wait to discuss where this thing they’re doing is going - mainly because he’s terrified of whichever conclusion they’ll reach. </p><p>“Now?” His mouth is foamy, and he accidentally drools from talking with his toothbrush in his mouth.</p><p>“Yes,” Connor says.</p><p>“Fine, but in that case you’ll have to stand behind the shower curtain.” He doesn’t mean it as an incentive, but apparently Connor is unfazed by the proposal.</p><p>“Sounds good, tell me when you’re done and decent.” </p><p>And so, about a minute later, Hank sinks down into the hot water and lets Connor sit on the edge of the bathtub, back turned. He can’t think of a more pathetic way to do this, to find out that Connor knows he is way out of his league. Because that is, after all, the only logical conclusion to this whole endeavor. Connor <em> is </em>too good for him, in every sense of the word. While Hank has been drinking, sleeping and either ignoring work or being buried in it ever since they met, Connor has done actual good, being an integral part of the work towards android rights. Not only that, but he’s evolving and learning. Now he’s taking care of Hank, in his own, Connor way - renovating his house, playing therapist, cooking, cleaning.... Like Hank is his senile old dad. </p><p>That’s what they’d look like together, wouldn’t they? Father and son. Hank sticks out like a sore thumb, and Connor blends in. Hank is loud, and rude, and an idiot, and Connor is charming, and handsome, and…</p><p>Hank practically hears himself spiralling, the despair nearly consuming him as he sinks further into the water, wishing he were anywhere but here. </p><p>The fear and humiliation burns hot in his chest, removing any sense and reason left in him, and the hope that he felt that morning when they left the Manfords has evaporated in a cloud of smoke. Even worse is the dread that comes from knowing that Connor won’t leave unless Hank asks him - too loyal for his own good, too scared of Hank’s health to do what’s right for <em> himself. </em></p><p>Before Connor starts, Hank begins to wash his hair, needing something to do to feel less vulnerable. This was a shit idea. Why did he suggest this in the first place?</p><p>“Okay, I want to ask you,” Connor begins and an invisible hand squeezes around Hank’s poor heart, “Do you really want to sell the house?”</p><p>Hank stops in his tracks. Shampoo runs down his forehead and gets in his eye.</p><p>He pushes the suds out of his face and stares, incredulous, at the back of Connor’s head. </p><p>Connor only glances a little to the side, not enough to get an eyeful of Hank, but enough to catch his eye. </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I wanna sell it?” Hank asks, who’s now thrown for a loop. “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”</p><p>Connor purses his lips, but doesn’t answer right away, though the yellow light illuminating the bathroom gives him away. Hank sighs when he is met with silence, and sinks back into the bath to rinse his hair, releasing a deep breath at the sensation. His side acted up when they walked back home, making his back stiffen and cramp up. Now, he slowly feels the muscles around the bruise relax as his body heats up. He almost thinks that that’s all, but then Connor finally opens his mouth.</p><p>“It feels like you’ve been happier out here, is all. I enjoy seeing all those worries melt off of you when we’re here.”</p><p>The words warm him to the core, more so than any hot bath could ever do. And he gets what Connor means, he really does, but it’s not really the place that has made him happier, rather the company.</p><p>“Do <em> you </em>feel happier out here?” he asks. It’s difficult to know, sometimes, especially in a situation like this where Connor is working hard to make things as good as possible for Hank.</p><p>“I… I think it’s nice with the change of scenery. It puts other things into perspective,” Connor eventually says, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Hank hums, because he does know about those things.</p><p>Connor stands up and pulls the shower curtain shut, his back still turned, while Hank stands up to shower off all the soap. Hank lets himself stand there in the steam for a moment.</p><p>“I’m glad you gave me a better ending to this house, Connor. Feels nice to let good memories stay good, y’know? And maybe it’s time to let a new family create memories here.”</p><p>It feels good to say, in a sort of melancholy way. If Connor doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t say, and instead he hands him his bathrobe, a soft thing that feels like a warm hug. While Hank towels off his hair and Connor makes him use some fancy face cream that apparently is all the rage, the moment in the lake resurges with a vengeance, and once again, Hank is made painfully aware of the situations he and Connor get themselves in. Connor retreats to sit on the couch with Sumo at his feet while Hank collects himself. He has to have the talk, he figures. There’s no way around it. Staring into his reflection in the mirror, he forces himself into a quiet pep talk. He won’t lose Connor - at least, not completely. He’ll just not be the only close friend in his life, and he’ll have to share him with the rest of the world, and any future partners, he realizes with a sinking feeling. </p><p>When he prepares to get out of the bathroom, he hears Connor talking. Something about work at Jericho.</p><p>“Yeah, apparently Christopher has already settled down. Whatever floats his boat.” Connor laughs. “I’m sure you can handle being without me for another week, Markus.. I know. It’s good, it’s… Exactly. Feels good, I’ve missed this.”</p><p>The hand clenches at Hank’s heart so hard, he thinks he might collapse. Of course Connor misses Markus. He has been too occupied with Hank’s sorry ass to have any free time of his own.</p><p>“Anything good on?” he asks, closing the bathroom door, then pretends to only now notice that Connor is speaking to someone. </p><p>“He just came back out. Okay, talk to you soon.” Connor’s LED shifts from yellow to blue, and looks up with a smile. Hank bends down to pet Sumo, hoping he doesn’t seem as distraught as he is. “Markus says hi. You know, here’s the sequel of Mamma Mia on in ten minutes, by the way.” There’s a short silence as Hank straightens up, where Connor traces his gaze from Sumo and up to Hank. He smiles. “That bathrobe looks cute on you.”</p><p>“Jesus christ, Connor.” Blushing furiously, Hank tries, and fails, to find words to soften the tension, and when he doesn’t find anything to say, he plops down on the seat next to Connor, pointedly staring at the screen to avoid eye contact. </p><p>He can practically <em> feel </em>the smug grin on Connor’s face.</p><p>The TV fills the silence between them. Connor tenses when Hank shifts in his seat to accommodate his bruise and accidentally brushing his knee against Connor’s thigh.</p><p>A question burns in his throat, and he self consciously clears it to find his voice, before he gathers his courage to ask. Better have his heart broken now, before his feelings get a chance to manifest - even deeper, that is. After all, if he wants Connor in his life he has got to be a supportive friend, unlike the way he has been acting for the past couple of months. </p><p>If a charismatic, handsome and kind leader is who Connor wants, then Hank can’t blame him. Back when he stormed into Markus’ office last week and saw them together, he just knew that those two looked way more compatible than he and Connor could ever be. The very idea, that Hank could…</p><p>Connor turns his head at the intake of breath, his eyebrows raised. </p><p>Now it feels weird. Hank clears his throat again, struggling to find the words.</p><p>“So, you-um… Have you told Markus?” he finally asks with a forced casual tone, despite the hand closing around his heart again. The worst part is where he’s gonna have to fake some sort of investment in whatever Connor will answer - because really, Hank doesn’t want to know all the ways in which Markus is a better companion than he is.</p><p>To complete the image of indifference, he leans back with his ankle resting over his knee, though he has to hurriedly close the gap of his stupid bathrobe.</p><p>Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. </p><p>“What?” Right in this moment, Hank wishes that Connor had more human cues, like blushing, or any indication beyond the color of his LED, of his feelings.</p><p>“I mean… Don’t you miss him?” he prompts, hoping the meaning is conveyed. Connor’s eyes narrow in suspicion, his arms cross over his chest.</p><p>“I’ll see him next week, why?”</p><p>“I just mean…” Hank sighs, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Look, you don’t have to be stuck with me if you want to go back, you know? I obviously want you here with me, but-”</p><p>“Hank, stop.” Connor interrupts him, exasperated. “What are you trying to ask me?”</p><p>“I don’t mean to pry if you don’t wanna talk-”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Connor snaps, and he leans back against the armrest, fixing Hank with his stare. “Go on then, ask me.”</p><p>Hank wants to backpedal. He wants to go back to the previous morning and forget this conversation ever happened. Instead, he asks him,</p><p>“Are you, interested- romantically I mean, in... Markus?” </p><p>Thinking about the all the probable answers he constructed in his mind earlier, Hank does not expect the look of frustration on Connor’s face, the heavy sigh as he searches his face. </p><p>“No. No, he’s not the one I’m…” Connor snaps his mouth shut, turning away from him, LED blinking red and yellow. When he stands up, Hank follows him into the kitchen. “Seriously, that’s honestly what you believe?” Hank hears Connor laugh, but it’s devoid of any emotion.  “I knew there was something up with you when you burst through the door like a walking romantic comedy, but you still think-”</p><p>Connor shuts up again, rummaging through the cabinets. Hank is not sure he is actually looking for anything.</p><p>“Hey, did I do some android faux pas here? I’m sorry if I stepped over a line, okay?”</p><p>“Did you…” Connor trails off, slamming a cupboard shut, and stares down at his hands clenching the kitchen counter. </p><p>Connor turns around, his eyes blazing dangerously. “You don’t get it, do you?” he hisses. “I came to Markus because I felt like I was losing you, and I hoped that he could give me some insight on what I was doing wrong. And you have been imagining me, what? Riding off into the sunset with him? Seriously, are you being obtuse on purpose?”</p><p>And fuck, Hank doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t. Connor is staring at him, breathing loudly and waiting for an answer. </p><p>"I thought… the way he looks at you-"</p><p>"The way- how about the way I look at him?” Connor groans into his hands covering his face.  “Or how I look at you?” Hank feels like he is missing something here, and he doesn’t interrupt, something very new to him. Connor waves around the house. “What did <em> you </em>think this was?"  "A fun thing for me to do? Some friendly help?"</p><p>“I,” Hank begins, but his mouth clamps shut. His heart is practically hammering out of its chest, and he wants to grab Connor’s shoulder, to pull him into a hug and never let go. He wants him to be happy. </p><p>Stopping just a step from Connor, Hank sees his whole body tense up when he comes close. Connor looks up at him, his eyes dark, and damn it, Hank wants to shut his thoughts out, to ignore them and just give into it. But he has to ask.</p><p>“Then what was it about?” </p><p>“I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” Connor mutters, a tinge of bitterness coating his words, and Hank’s heart flutters. </p><p>“Think I need you to spell it out for me, Connor,” he says, and he hears his own voice wobble, unsteady and scared. But he thinks he understands what Connor is saying, he just needs… He needs to know for real. </p><p>“I thought- I’m not sure I dare anymore, Hank. I thought you wanted...” It makes Connor sigh, eyes glaring up at the ceiling. Arms crossed over his chest, dejected.</p><p>This is it, Hank thinks. This is on him, now. The idea of Connor rejecting him is a crippling thought, but the idea of Connor returning Hank’s feelings is… Terrifying. </p><p>The self deprecating thoughts circle back to him, like a pack of vultures around a dead animal, closing in on the hope that sparks inside him. They tell him that this is far more than he deserves. </p><p>And for once, for fucking once, Hank tells the thoughts to shut their fucking mouths. </p><p>Because Connor is here and he’s waiting for Hank to make a move. And he won’t wait forever. </p><p>So Hank takes another step towards Connor, until they’re a breath away and he can fully see the pattern of his moles and freckles. He wants to touch every single one of them. Connor starts, wide eyes snapping to Hank’s and continuing down as Hank’s taking his hands in his own, holding them between them both. It’s a fragile moment, both of them so tense and so vulnerable. Connor’s breath hitches as Hank carefully brings their joined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle of Connor’s perfect fingers. It’s a wonderful sound, his gasp as Hank catches his eye again. They’re still holding on to each other. Then Hank gently releases Connor’s hands, only to let his palms rest at the back of his neck. Connor shivers.  </p><p>“I’m not gonna magically change, you know,” Hank finally croaks, when it’s starting to feel silly, quietly pressing against each other in the small kitchen. Connor tilts his head at that, still so quiet, and Hank wonders if he’s not talking on principle, making Hank do the talking. “This- If it is what you want with me... and I- I really want whatever you’d be willing to give,” he rambles, still feeling anxious. “But I’m still… All of this,” he finishes, with an awkward hand gesturing all over himself. Connor laughs at that, and the awfully tense spell is broken. </p><p>“I don’t want you to change, Hank. Magic or no,” he smiles.</p><p>“Thanks, that’s not what I meant. Look, I need you to fully understand this. I’m never gonna be good enough for you and, let’s face it, you could do so much fucking better than a washed-up old cop with terrible habits and no fashion sense.” He says it half-jokingly, knowing it’s completely true, because he can’t do this unless it’s all out in the open. To this confession, Connor raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Hank. I’m a failed prototype who was made to be expendable. Humans don’t like me after I released the androids, and most androids only see me as the deviant hunter. I don’t fit in anywhere.” His voice breaks. Hank wants to hug him tightly, but he continues. “And you’re a brilliant detective, who’s compassionate and protective. You cared about me even though I was making your life hell during our first week. ” Connor reaches up to push a strand of hair from Hank’s face. “And if you’ll believe me, you’re also incredibly handsome. Now, you’re telling me it’s <em> you </em> who don’t deserve <em> me </em>?”</p><p>A wave of warmth spreads all over Hank, out to his fingertips. The words send butterflies fluttering in his chest. He has forgotten what it’s like to be wanted. </p><p>Making sure that this is indeed what Connor wants, and like approaching a wounded animal, Hank holds his gaze and slowly, achingly slowly closes the distance. Before he shuts his eyes, he sees Connor, cross eyed from focusing on Hank’s face.</p><p>And then Hank is kissing Connor. It’s difficult for him to explain in words, all those feelings pent up inside of him. He doesn’t know how to express them, so he does all he can to put those into the press of his lips against Connor’s, into his fingers carding through his hair.</p><p>It’s what undoes Connor, all his tension seeping out of him as he immediately wraps his arms around Hank’s neck, deepening the kiss despite the his hitched breaths that sound an awful lot like sobs. They grasp at each other like a lifeline, neither really knowing what their hands are reaching for as they travel over each other’s backs, arms, sides. The longing, the ache in his chest expands even more as he pulls Connor closer to him.</p><p>Reluctant to let go, they eventually break their embrace. With a soft press of his lips to Connor’s forehead, Hank backs away enough for them to look at each other. He is pleased to see Connor looking so ruffled, his lips gorgeously swollen from kissing. What completes this perfect image is the goofy grin that begins at the corners of his lips, and spreads to the crinkling of his eyes.</p><p>***</p><p>They’re not sure of what to do, now that… This, happened. In the end, they both decide to still watch that Mamma Mia sequel, though they’re not paying it much attention. At first, they miss the introductory songs, opting to kiss some more on the couch. Connor experimentally pulls at Hank’s hair again, which causes Hank to press against him more, shivering. It’s delicious, finding that Hank is more receptive than Connor could ever imagine. For a moment, they get into the story as ‘Angel eyes’ plays, and Connor is satisfied simply holding Hank’s hand and leaning against his shoulder. Of course, Hank has already explained the very simple plot to him, and it’s not really what he finds interesting now. </p><p>Instead, he shifts against Hank.</p><p>“So… Can I ask you what your intentions are with me?” he asks, mock serious. Hank reaches for the side of his face, caressing his thumb against Connor’s cheekbone. </p><p>“I told you, whatever you want from me. If that’s something casual, or something more-”</p><p>“I want more. Obviously,” Connor interrupts with a roll of his eyes, still a little frustrated that Hank still doesn’t believe him. “Look, I know I’m new at this. I’m inexperienced in a way, and I get that by human standards one would prefer to test the waters out there.” The thought sickens him. He’s not interested in exploring the world of dating, of intimacy in that way. There’s enough shit going on around him that he can’t escape. What he wants is what he’s got right here. “I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. You’re not getting a blushing virgin here, you’re getting a cast-aside android, okay?” The last part slips out, because now that this is actually happening, Connor has the beginnings of doubt, or insecurities, creeping in on him. There’s always gonna be a fundamental difference between them, and he’s not sure whether Hank truly gets that. In response, Hank chuckles. </p><p>“Yeah, I haven’t exactly missed that part. But I’m just sad that I can’t give you the happily ever after. As I am now, I probably got 20 more years, at best.” It makes Connor laugh.</p><p>“Hank, you know this isn’t a sci-fi novel, right? I don’t know how much time I’ve got until my body will need repairs and upgrades, until my programs get slow, but I’m not meant to last. I think I'll have another ten years, tops, before I have to start getting transplants." He hopes he gets through to him. “So in the sense of, ‘Til death do us part, yeah, you are my happily ever after.”</p><p>“Jesus, the things you say,” Hank mutters, but he doesn’t hide what appears to be tears in his eyes. “Fine, I’d love to be that for you.” With that, he pulls on Connor’s neck to scoot closer, and Connor stops as their lips barely graze each other.</p><p>“Be what, Hank?” Connor can’t help but say, and his grin is out of control.</p><p>“Ass. I’ll be your happily ever after. You satisfied?”</p><p>“Only is you kiss me now.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah.”</p><p>And so, they miss most of the film, either by making out or, when Hank needs to catch his breath, talking about the future. It’s lovely, safe. It’s home.</p><p>When the topic of sex approaches, Connor is glad to find that Hank doesn’t object to the idea of doing things a little unconventionally. </p><p>“I just assumed that you didn’t have any… Humanoid add-ons, or whatever.” The word choice sounds strange coming out of Hank’s mouth, and maybe it’s the way Connor has been carrying around all the pent up energy inside of him, because he finds the temperature warnings flash before his eyes for a moment. “So, do you like… Anything? Or anything in particular?”</p><p>Connor understands what he’s trying to ask.</p><p>“I like some things, definitely. Especially things involving you.”</p><p>It makes Hank blush, and now Connor is finally allowed to give into the urge to kiss him silly. </p><p>“Noted,” Hank gasps. “You like having your neck touched, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Connor’s thirium pump speeds up its beating at the thought of the other night. “It feels good. Haven’t tried much with my other equipment, but I’d love to explore it.” He hopes that Hank won’t find his inexperience with his dick off putting, but Hank tilts his head at him.</p><p>“You’re not sure you like that, then? Look, I’m fine fingering your neck or sucking your fingers or whatever,” the crude words give way to another fantasy to manifest in Connor’s mind, “but from personal experience, it- um, might be good to explore that part... Your dick, for yourself first. I don’t wanna ruin that experience for you.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Connor muses. “I’m just not sure what I’d like. Sure, I can watch pornography, but it’s not the same as doing things to myself.” He enjoys the way Hank’s pupils dilate at that.</p><p>“You’ve watched porn… For reference?”</p><p>“Better than looking up sex-ed at least. Anyway, I think I’d learn a lot quicker if I got to know what <em> you </em>like.” </p><p>He feels absolutely devilish as he watches Hank process that sentence, and the room becomes increasingly warmer. A quick glance down shows that Hank is hard now, and God. That knowledge sends Connor into a spiral of wanting to keep talking, and wanting his hands on Hank’s groin right this moment.</p><p>“Jesus,” Hank whispers and crashes their mouths together. Connor lets out a moan, feeling his own cock waking up at the feel of Hank’s tongue meeting his. He tastes the chemicals of toothpaste and Hank’s own saliva. It’s strangely intoxicating. Hank releases his hold on him, enough to get out a hurried,</p><p>“We-We don’t have to do anything right now. I’m fine just-”</p><p>Connor cuts him off with another kiss, and Hank groans. </p><p>“I want to. Right now,” he gasps, and then things get heated real quick.</p><p>Connor is delighted to find that Hank is sensitive to touch, that he is responsive in a way that makes his fantasies run wild of what they could do later. Connor lets his hands trail down his chest, pinching one nipple as he takes an earlobe in his mouth, and Hank <em> moans,</em> bucking his hips up. It’s filthy, it’s gorgeous, and Connor does it again. Hank’s hands travel over Connor’s body, stopping at his ass and squeezing him closer until they’re grinding against each other. One of his fingers grazes Connor’s neck port, which causes Connor to bend his head forward in invitation. His entire body shivers as his synthskin retracts and Hank is touching his bare chassis. A nail accidentally scrapes against the edge of the port. Connor tenses, gasping for air to cool himself down.</p><p>“Feel good?” Hank asks, the smugness evident in his voice.</p><p>“Yeah, please, can you-” Connor tries to say, but he ends up reaching behind to open the neck port himself, revealing the wiring underneath. Hank groans as Connor takes his hand and moves it until Hank is touching inside of him. </p><p>“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Hank gasps, and calms some of Connor’s worries to know that he’s still desirable, wires and all. “What do you like?”</p><p>“Just, start slow. You can go further in. Unless you hit me, I’m not gonna-” he stops, tensing up as Hank presses at the first layer of thin wires. Waves of pleasure rolls through him, making it difficult to do anything else but sit there on Hank’s lap, pressing into Hank’s hand.  “Fuck!”</p><p>Hank smirks, catching a wire between his fingers and gently rubbing. Connor writhes against him, helpless mewls escaping him now, and he puts the processing power left into moving his own hand down to the front of Hank’s robe, where the fabric is already slightly parted to reveal Hank’s growing erection. Even not fully hard yet, Hank is big. Connor’s mind vaguely informs him of many humans’ preferences for well endowed…</p><p>He hasn’t got time to divulge into research now, because now he’s palming Hank’s cock, which makes Hank buck against him, pushing his thick fingers further into Connor’s neck. They accidentally pull at one of the wires close to his spine, and suddenly Connor is very close.</p><p>“Tell me how you like it,” he moans against him, wrapping his hand around Hank’s impressive girth, and Hank bites at Connor’s lower lip, continuing to stroke him firmly, in a pattern that makes Connor stop what he’s doing and grab at Hank’s shoulders, hard. </p><p>“Ah, Aah!” is the only sound he can form, shaking as Hank speeds up, his own hips grinding down against him. Hank whimpers at the contact, but keeps the pressure going until Connor’s system overloads and he’s coming, hard, against Hank, who continues to stroke until Connor is oversensitive, flinching at the contact but otherwise reduced to a rag doll against him. His system is still rebooting, though he’s thankfully still conscious - somewhat. He’s coherent enough to croak to Hank that he’s fine and this is normal, lucid enough to observe the way Hank sneaks his own hand between them and strokes himself to completion. </p><p>Afterwards, when they’re pressed against the couch, covered in Hank’s sweat and come, Connor mutters against his neck,</p><p>“I wanted to do that for you.” He sounds more petulant than desired, and Hank laughs weakly at him.</p><p>“Think we were both too far gone. Next time, promise,” he mumbles, hand lazily stroking Connor’s back, sneaking under his shirt. Hank is falling asleep, and though Connor  feels content sitting in his lap, he knows they have to move, unless Hank wants to fuck up his back. </p><p>They eventually stagger to the bathroom for cleanup, one of Hank’s arms wrapped around Connor’s waist. They joke and nag at each other, and later in bed, Connor gets to hold Hank in his arms, listening until his breaths even out.</p><p>In the morning, they go out for a walk with Sumo, this time holding hands. One of their neighbours walk past and awkwardly greets them. A few days later, when they’re back in Detroit, Connor calls to begin the process of putting the house up for sale.</p><p>***</p><p>“Are you sure this is what you want?” Connor asks as they watch the tenth couple drive away from Greenpine road, dust clouding the car. Hank hears their realtor agent complaining, wondering why the hell she is even here, and he honestly can’t blame her. It’s just that none of the people that have been interested in the lot are the right ones. It’s not the price, not even the people, really - Hank can’t put his finger on why he is so reluctant to every single prospect. When Connor asks him if this is what he wants, he’s not sure. </p><p>“What else can I do? We don’t fit in this house, anyway. At least, I don’t.”</p><p>“But you don’t want to sell it?” Connor prods. Hank shrugs. Doesn’t he? That was the point, after all. “Something is bothering you, Hank. Please talk to me,” Connor continues, and drives the point home by squeezing his hand reassuringly. Ms Adams glares daggers into Hank’s back when she thinks he isn’t looking, which is understandable, he muses. </p><p>“It’s just… I keep thinking about Dany and the others.” The admission comes out on its own volition, though it’s true he has been worrying about the androids who moved from Detroit, who now have been evicted by the communal council, after the news of their agreement caught up to the higher-ups. It’s a shit move from the people who run the place, but it’s still completely within their right. Some of the androids have moved back to Detroit, hunkering together in small apartments. Most of them seem to prefer company and enjoy living in tighter quarters than what any sane human would, but even by those standards, their housing is tiny. Now, here Hank is, owner of two houses, with one of the homes that these very same androids helped renovate, selling it to people who don’t need an additional house. Of course he feels guilty.</p><p>Connor hums, squeezing his hand again. </p><p>“I know. It’s not fair.”</p><p>“None of it is,” Hank agrees. “All I know is that I don’t want this house anymore, but it doesn’t really help if I refuse to sell it.”</p><p> ***</p><p>Hank finds it easier than he expected to say goodbye to the DPD, after all this time. He resigns in Jeffrey’s office, after an inhuman amount of talking. Jeff is worried at first, because of course he is - he knows better than anyone just how easily Hank slipped into his depression, knows how Hank has picked up his gun at night. He is reluctant to let Hank go, and Hank is moved by his friend’s worry, but then he tells him about the work at Jericho, about Carl’s investments and the ways Hank can help them. </p><p>“I have a feeling you won’t get rid of me that easy,” he jokes and Jeff can’t help but laugh. Hank thinks about what he should say to him now, because after all, Jeff has been one of his oldest friends and he has also given Hank more chances than any boss would ever give. He wants to express his gratitude, but also how fucking ashamed he is for the way he’s been pushing his limits for these past years. Instead, Jeff stops him when he sees the look on his face. Raising a hand up, he cuts him off before he has time to spout any apologies.</p><p>“Hank, it’s all right. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been through. And I’m glad things are a little easier than before.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t even have made it the first year without you and your mother hen instinct.”</p><p>“And now Connor brouht you back to the land of the living, huh?” Jeffrey chortles.</p><p>“Can you fucking believe?” Hank huffs. “The goddamn irony.”</p><p>Two weeks later, Hank comes to the precinct one final time and is met by a station that is so crowded that he briefly wonders if there’s been another uprising in Detroit. He stops in his tracks when he sees the presents on his desk. Only then does he recognize the officers and detectives around him. Some of them he hasn’t seen in ten years. His breath hitches, and he forces down the dry sob that threatens to escape his throat when he sees people from the red ice task force. It’s difficult to remain neutral when Jeffrey breaks out mugs and glasses from the break room and toasts to him. Even Gavin keeps his insults to himself, which would be a relief for Hank, except he’d do anything for some sense of normalcy. </p><p>It’s what is expected of the precinct when an officer that have worked there as long as Hank has retires, but it still tugs at his heart, and he escapes as soon as is socially acceptable, returning his badge and gun before he shakes people’s hands, gives Jeffrey a one-armed hug and leaves one last time with the flowers and the brand-new watch on his wrist. </p><p>He comes back home to Connor making a mess in the kitchen, Sumo begging for scraps at his heels. The whole house smells of cake and icing. </p><p>“How was your last day?” Connor calls when Hank kicks off his shoes. </p><p>“It’s uh..” he begins and the lump that has been stuck in his throat all day returns with a vengeance. He clears his throat a couple of times, walks over to lean against the doorway. The sight at the dinner table grabs his attention. There’s another gift in the middle, wrapped neatly in some old paper that he vaguely recognizes from his closet. Of course Connor would be considerate enough to get him a gift. That’s not what makes Hank so close to tears that he has to suffocate the heave that almost wracks through his body. </p><p>No, it’s the small card folded next to the package, a photo of himself. Not just him though, but a photo of him with Connor on his right, both of them wearing Hank’s obnoxiously (Connor’s words) colorful shirts. He has an arm slung over Connor’s lean shoulders, a wide grin on his face. </p><p>It’s picture that North coerced them into, because she thought they looked like a couple of tourists on Hawaii. Hank remembers laughing way too loud at her comment, thinking it hilarious that she had found that reference and decided to go for it. Connor had borrowed, or nicked, one of Hank’s old shirts, linen with a floral pattern, that looked insane in combination with Connor’s perfectly styled hair and official looking pants.</p><p>Hank stares at the photo, remembers the way he playfully tugged Connor close to him for the picture, how he flushed at the sensation of his firm body touching his side.</p><p>Connor must have picked up on Hank’s distress, because he stops what he’s doing, his LED circling yellow. Hank hopes he doesn’t say anything, wishes he’ll pretend that he hasn’t noticed, that Hank can just let out these couple of sobs and then they can go back to business.</p><p>That doesn’t happen, of course. Connor turns around sharply and takes in Hank’s pathetic form. Hank wants to shrink away but his body is shaking and he needs to find something to hold on to.</p><p>All tension in his shoulders is released, be it from handing in his badge or from the fact that Connor called on his way home to tell him that the contracts to the house are signed. It doesn’t matter, mainly because Hank’s head is too tired and burned out to think anymore today.</p><p>Connor is by his side and firmly plants his hand on the back of Hank’s head. He pulls him in, hiding Hank’s face in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t indicate any desire to pull back. Hank cries as quietly as he can. It causes shivers and shakes down his back and he grabs onto Connor’s shirt like it’s his only lifeline. They are still for a long moment, and Hank slowly feels his breathing calm down, though he’s still not ready to let go of Connor just yet. </p><p>Then as if on cue, Sumo ruins the moment by pushing on their knees and whining loudly. Connor laughs quietly and gradually releases the grip on Hank’s head. Now that the crying has stopped, Hank feels stupid. Stupid, and small and so, so vulnerable.</p><p>He loosens the fists in Connor’s clothing and pulls away. Connor’s cheek brushes against his when they part, the ghost of his artificial breath tickling his skin. Hank leans back enough to look into those dark eyes that feel like <em> home </em>, and when Connor closes the distance between them and kisses his lips, it’s the most natural thing in the world. </p><p>It’s a quick, casual kiss, one they share when one of them is out the door, or when they pass each other in the hallway. Hank wants another one, but he settles on swiping his thumb along Connor’s jaw.</p><p>“Got some flour on you,” he says, and Connor’s smile as he laughs again lights another fire inside of him. </p><p>“I’m not built with a baking protocol. Didn’t know it turned into dust clouds so easily,” he says and goes back to the counter. “Go change into some more comfortable clothes, dinner’s got another ten minutes in the oven.”</p><p>***</p><p>Hank hasn’t been here in four months, not since they signed the contracts and the move to another house began. It has been a lot of work to get settled in, finding a way for the new home to be equal parts his, and Connor’s. Not that it hasn’t been fun and exciting, because it has, but he feels the exhaustion in his bones. </p><p>It’s spring, and the season has brought budding trees and birdsong. The garden is better kept, filled with rows of flowers and berry bushes. </p><p>This time, the nostalgia is a bittersweet thing, where he allows himself to think for a little while of what was and what could have been, and then lets it go. Connor is looking out the window, texting Jeffrey to check if he has arrived, and Hank’s stomach does a few flips. Having a retirement party, of sorts, at the same day as he announces his engagement to Connor, sounded effective and practical when he agreed to it, but now he realizes that he severely underestimated just how much today would be.</p><p>The driveway to Greenpine Road 6 is, by comparison to its usual state, crammed with cars, and Hank recognizes Jeffrey’s somewhere in there. He has a moment to freak out about it all.</p><p>“Changed your mind on eloping yet?” he asks, hearing the hysterical tone in his own voice, and Connor rolls his eyes with a grin on his face.</p><p>“Not a chance.” He unclasps his seatbelt and leans over to kiss Hank, a hand stroking his cheek. “Come on, I want to show everyone that you are mine now. No take-backsies.”</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Hank laughs, stuffing his hand in Connor’s face to playfully shove him off. “What are you, five?”</p><p>“I only take after you, so it’s your fault,” is Connor’s answer, and he is looking smug as shit. “Also I’m only about one, so.”</p><p>“Prick. Monkey see, monkey do, eh?” Hank chuckles and reaches for another quick kiss. “Hey thank you for being amazing. You know I love you, right?” </p><p>Connor rolls his eyes, and starts counting on his fingers, “So you told me, after you said that I was gorgeous last night, and after you told me how kind and sweet I was this morning. And before saying that I was the smartest person you knew--”</p><p>“You think I tell you too often?” Hank says, grinning because he knows what Connor will answer.</p><p>“No,” Connor says forcefully. “Do it again.”</p><p>“I love you,” Hank whispers and kisses him slowly, feeling Connor’s smile against his lips, his worries slowly ebbing out, for each press of their mouths. </p><p>Connor taps him on the tip of his nose, before they release each other and open the car doors to get out.</p><p>When Hank called and asked if he and Connor could have the get together at Greenpine, it was out of sentimentality, to share the place where they came together with the people they love. Not wanting any unnecessary expenses for the new owners, Hank insisted that he’d pay for any of the extra costs, and he put together a basket of new android themed consumables, after checking with Connor that it won’t be an offensive gift. To even it out, he also bought a bouquet of flowers. After all, the androids have been nothing but friendly since he met them, and he thinks he considers them his friends, after all this time.</p><p>He should have seen this coming. As they enter the front garden, they are met by the smell of grilled meat and vegetables, music from inside the house, where there are considerably more androids than he remembered inviting, and the sight of Jeffrey chatting with Markus, of all people.</p><p>It’s strange to see, after everything that happened in 2038, but Hank relies on Jeffrey having some common sense. Hank relaxes when he sees both of the men smile at each other, shaking hands over something, and he silently thanks god that he didn’t invite any more cops. </p><p>“The men of the hour!” Dany calls from the backyard as they approach, and Markus and Jeffrey turn their heads. Jeffrey’s eyes immediately fall to Hank and Connor’s joined hands. He grins, and Hank blushes.</p><p>“About damn time, Anderson,” he jokes goodnaturedly. Hank flips him off, before pulling him into a hug. He’s glad that they managed to find their way back to each other, once Hank quit the DPD, finding it easier to see each other for a game or an evening out, without work hanging over them. </p><p>Markus shakes Connor’s hand, their usual interfacing short and perfunct. Connor smirks at Hank, knowing full well what Hank is thinking, before greeting Jeffrey with a hug as well. </p><p>The afternoon is warm, the first day that feels a little like summer, and Hank is grateful that Christopher has managed to scrounge up an AC for the house. It’s not that much different from when he and Connor moved out - most of the furniture is there, as are the trees and bushes, though the kitchen is nowadays cluttered by android stuff. </p><p>Hank hugs Dany and George, and pats Christopher on the back, as the android has his hands full by the grill.</p><p>“So, how’s the new home treating you?” he asks and is once again so relieved that things worked out the way we did. Dany goes into a tangent over the work she has done on the driveway, explaining the process of asphalting and cleaning up. Even though Hank doesn’t understand a thing, he’s happy that he could do something for them - let them have a home that they can stay in, where they don’t have to worry about eviction. After all, business is starting to boom, even though the pay is still crap. </p><p>“I guess congratulations are in order,” Christopher says as he lets the steaks lie on the grill, bringing Hank and Connor into a hug. “When’s the date?”</p><p>“We don’t know yet,” Connor says, squeezing Hank’s hand. “Probably gonna wait until we can do it officially.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s that far away, do you?” Markus chimes in. “If the Android Civil Rights-act goes through, we have-”</p><p>“Now now,” Dany says, holding one hand up. “No shop talk with the guests. We’re here to celebrate, not work. Also, I’ve been searching for some good party activities for today,” her eyes practically sparkle at this, “and I hope you like piñatas!”</p><p>Hank doesn’t have the heart to tell her that those are usually reserved for kids’ birthday parties, because she looks so damn happy at the prospect of beating the thing. He does, however, let her do it, claiming to have a bad back. </p><p>The party isn’t over for hours, and it seems that Jeffrey is still having a good time, which pleases him to no end. Carl shows up from having taken a well deserved rest inside, and tells them the story of how he once got into a fist fight outside an art gallery in the eighties. The food is nice, the evening air chilly but manageable with blankets and a heater on the porch.</p><p>When he takes Connor’s hand under their shared blanket, and kisses his palm, Hank feels overwhelmed with love. Love for his stubborn, genius fiancé, the one who pushes him to his limits, who makes him coffee in the mornings still, who makes Hank’s eyes roll to the back of his head when he blows him. The one who gives him butterflies like a fucking teenager. Connor smiles at him, his eyes crinkling.</p><p>Hank thinks Connor knows what he’s thinking - <em> What the hell did I do to deserve you, huh? </em></p><p>***</p><p>“You’re welcome to stay if you don’t wanna drive all the way home,” Christopher offers as Jeffrey walks to his car.</p><p>“That’s very kind of you, and I appreciate the offer. Still, I think my wife would like me to come home now,” Jeffrey says and thanks them again for the evening.</p><p>“Hey, don’t be a stranger, Jeff,” Hank calls as he drives away. “Text me when you get home!”</p><p>“Yeah yeah Hank, Love you too!” Jeffrey yells before rolling up his window. </p><p>Connor and Hank wait until the Markus and Carl have left, promising to say hi to North and the others for them. They say goodbye to their friends at Greenpine, and Hank marvels at the way it feels so natural, to stand at the garden outside this place that he used to spend so many summers in, the place where his son spent his sixth birthday, and only feel the warmth of Connor’s hand on his back as they walk to the car.</p><p>“Right, back to Maple street,” Connor announces and turns on the engine, once Hank has strapped himself in. “Oh, I didn’t tell you, but I finally got the wireless to work!”</p><p>“That’s my good robot, Honey,” Hank teases and sticks out his tongue at Connor, who tries to get a finger into his side, where he’s ticklish. </p><p>“You’re a butt face,” Connor grumbles with a pout, and Hank bursts out laughing, feeling lighter by the second, incredulous that this is his life now. </p><p>“Amazing comeback, love,” he chokes out. “Hey, thank you. For everything. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” It comes out in a light tone, though Hank knows Connor sees through it, because Connor reaches for his hand as they speed down the road to Maple street. </p><p>“I know,” Connor murmurs, voice soft and sweet. It’s the voice that tells Hank how beautiful he is, how strong and good and how much Connor loves him.</p><p>Then Connor adds,</p><p>“Butt face.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A big big thank you to all of you that read this fic!! I can't believe I made it, after thinking about Connor mowing a lawn, or Hank starting a water fight for months. I hope you've enjoyed reading this, and that you're just as filled with summer fluff as I am now. Bye bye, going to the beach now, comments are always greatly appreciated!</p><p>/Highsplo</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! This work was supposed to only be about 10k, a drabble of scenes, but apparently I had quite a lot to say about the story, so here we are!</p><p>--<br/>Also, let's pretend we live in a world where millennials have the means to own more than one house</p></blockquote></div></div>
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